1        :    , 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

405  Hilgard  Avenue,  Los  Angeles,  CA  90024-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


NOK-RENEWABLE 


JUL  2  6  1999 


DUE  2  WKS  FF  OM  DATE  RECEIVED 


UCLA  ACCESS 

interllbrary  Loans 
1 1 630  University 
BOX  951 575 
Lot  Angeles,  CA 


£'****> 
;iyr*%$ 

-  -*V 

;V 
1  ^ 


SERVICES  BL19 

^search  Library 
90096-1675 


WJG  2  6 


\m 


THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE 


THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE 


BY 


EDWARD    KING 


BOSTON 
JAMES   R.   OSGOOD   AND   COMPANY 

1883 


Copyright,  1883, 
BY  JAMES  R.  OSGOOD  AND  COMPANY. 


(All  rights  reserved.) 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAUE 

I.  AN  UNEXPECTED  MEETING  ...           ...           ...        1 

II.  THE  PROTEST           ...           ...  ...           ...             12 

III.  PLEASANT  MEKRINOTT  SEES  A  SHAWL        ...  ...      26 

IV.  CARO  AND  HER  MOTHER        ...  ...  ...             36 

V.  STANISLAS          ...           ...  ...           ...           ...      49 

VI.  ALICE  HAS  AN  ADVENTURE   ...  ...           ...             60 

VII.  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE      ...  ...           ...           ...      73 

Vni.  A  REPROOF  FOR  PLEASANT   ...  ...           ...              86 

IX.  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE  is  AROUSED  ...           ...      98 

X.  A  PROMISE                ...            ...  ...             . .            109 

XI.  A  MYSTERIOUS  INSTRUMENT  ...           ...           ...    120 

XII.  THE  DISCIPLES  OF  BAKOUNIN  ...           ...            131 

XIII.  IN  THE  CATHEDRAL         ...  ...  ...           ...    142 

XIV.  ON  THE   SCHAENZLI  ...                 ...  .  .  ...                  153 

XV.  A  WAGER          ..    1G5 

XVI.  THE  ALPINE  FIRE    ...            ...  ...            ...            177 

XVII.  CARO'S  CONFESSION          ...  ...           ...           ...    189 

X  VIII.  BETWEEN  SORROW  AND  DOUBT  . .             ...            199 

XIX.  IN  THE  EXILE-WORLD    ...  ...            ...            ...    209 

XX.  THE  APOSTLE  OF  MAN'S  WILL  ...            .   .            220 

XXI.  ON  THE  HOUSE-TOP          ...  ...           ...            ...    232 

XXII.  GOLDEN  MOMENTS    ...            ...  . .             ...            246 

XXIII.  A  LOVING  STRATAGEM    ...  ...  ...            ...    257 

XXIV.  AN  ALLIANCE  FOR  INFORMATION        ...  ...  266 

XXV.  CONVALESCENCE ...           ...           ...    277 

XXVI.  THE  WARNING  288 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 

PAGE 

XXVII. 

...     299 

XXVIII. 

TRIAL  AND  PARTING 

310 

XXIX. 

UNDER  THE  SHADOW  AGAIN    ... 

...     325 

XXX. 

COLONEL  CLIFF  REPORTS  FOR  ORDERS 

336 

XXXI. 

UNMASKING  ...           ...           ...           ... 

...    349 

XXXII. 

VERA  IN  THE  TOILS 

361 

XXXIII. 

xxxrv. 

THE  TEMPTER    ...           .  .  .           ... 

383 

XXXV. 

VERA  FINDS  THE  NEW  WORLD 

...    394 

XXXVI. 

BLUELOTS  AND  MERRINOTTS 

404 

XXXVII. 

ALICE  TO  THE   1  ;  I  sr  r  K 

...    416 

XXXVIII. 

THE  CLOCK  OF  DESTINY  STRIKES  .  .  . 

426 

XXXIX. 

CALM  AFTER  STORM 

...     435 

THE    GENTLE    SAVAGE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

AN   UNEXPECTED    MEETING. 

THE  wanderer  paused  for  a  moment,  as  he  entered  the 
sweet  valley  in  which  Interlaken  stands,  to  look  down  on 
the  waters  of  the  swiftly-rushing  Aar.  Then  he  resumed 
his  walk  with  a  long,  swinging  stride,  which  gave  his 
progress  a  kind  of  savage  grace.  He  walked  as  men 
walked  before  clothes  were  made. 

It  was  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  a  cool  breeze 
from  the  Lake  of  Thun  came  through  the  vale,  fanning 
the  traveller's  temples,  and  bringing  delicate  perfumes 
from  the  meadows  in  which  the  newly-mown  hay  was 
lying.  The  Jungfrau  had  been  wrapt  in  her  misty  shroud 
all  day,  but  now  she  had  thrown  it  aside,  and  stood 
revealed  in  her  matchless  splendour.  As  the  new-comer 
reached  a  point  from  which  he  could  see  the  noble  peak, 
an  admiring  cry  came  to  his  lips.  He  stepped  under  the 
broad-spreading  boughs  of  a  walnut-tree  on  the  Hoheweg, 
let  his  little  knapsack  slip  from  his  shoulder  down  to 
his  feet,  took  off  his  hat,  and  stood  reverently  looking 
at  the  snow-clad  virgin  of  the  Bernese  Alps. 

In  all  his  journey  through  Switzerland,  he  had  seen 


2  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

nothing  more  lovely  than  this  tranquil  nook,  sheltered  on 
either  side  by  gigantic  mountain  ranges,  with  cloud 
wreaths  hovering  about  their  summits.  The  rich  green 
of  the  forests,  the  gray  and  mottled  tints  on  the  rocks, 
the  intense  blue  of  the.  sky,  the  calm  and  dewy  fragrance 
of  the  fields,  the  houses  half  hidden  in  foliage,  made  up 
a  picture  with  which  he  was  completely  pleased.  Yet 
he  turned  from  his  worship  of  the  Jungfrau  with  a  sigh, 
and  when  he  took  up  his  pack,  and  moved  away  again, 
there  was  a  look  of  discontent  upon  .his  handsome  face. 
The  young  ladies  from  Germany  and  England  and 
America,  who  were  enjoying  their  evening  promenade  in 
the  avenue,  twittered  and  glanced  backward  as  lie  passed 
by  them,  for  he  was  the  most  noticeable  figure  that  they 
had  seen  in  Interlaken  for  many  a  day.  The  blonde 
serving-maids,  lazily  •  following  their  mistresses,  gazed 
rapturously  at  him,  for  to  them  he  seemed  a  demi-god. 
The  old  invalids,  hobbling  homeward  because  the  dews 
were  beginning  to  fall,  looked  approvingly  on  him,  and 
seemed  to  get  a  certain  vitality  from  his  momentary  pres- 
ence. Christian  Steiner,  the  guide  from  the  Grindelwald, 
took  off  his  hat,  as  he  was  wont  to  do  before  strangers 
whose  appearance  impressed  him.  A  great  St.  Bernard 
dog  came  out  from  the  gate  of  one  of  the  fashionable 
hotels,  crossed  over  the  road  and  sniffed  at  the  stranger's 
legs,  then  followed  him  meekly  and  with  friendliness  for 
a  short  distance,  accepting  a  caress  as  if  it  were  some- 
thing to  be  proud  of. 

Presently  the  new-comer  left  the  long  line  of  summer 
caravansaries  beliind  him,  passed  through  the  small  ham- 
let of  Aarmulile,  which  joins  hands  with  Interlaken,  and 
turned  to  the  right,  crossing  the  Aar  by  the  road  which 
leads  over  the  bridge  into  Unterseen.  At  the  Hotel  du 
Pout  he  halted,  went  into  the  garden  on  the  bank  of  the 
stream,  and  in  rather  indifferent  French  asked  the  waiter 


AN   UNEXPECTED   MEETING. 

who  came  running  to  meet  him  for  a  room  and  for  some 
supper.  The  waiter  took  his  luggage,  and  flew  as  if  to 
execute  his  commands,  leaving  him  standing  in  the  shade, 
with  his  head  bent  slightly  downward,  like  one  engaged 
in  deep  thought. 

He  was  a  tall,  erect  young  man,  with  no  small  amount 
of  what  cautious  and  timid  Europeans  would  call  ' '  defi- 
ance ' '  in  his  demeanour.  He  stood  squarely  on  his  feet, 
and  his  garments,  although  of  ordinary  cut,  assumed  a 
symmetry  to  which  it  was  easy  to  see  that  the  excellent 
outlines  of  his  form  compelled  them.  The  unconscious 
ease  of  his  motions  and  the  grace  of  his  person  in  repose 
were  evidently  part  of  an  inheritance  from  ancestors  who 
had  not  been  confined  into  and  crippled  by  the  conven- 
tionalities and  unhealthy  practices  of  modern  society. 
He  did  not  seem  born  to  move  in  streets,  and  to  cross 
from  sidewalk  to  sidewalk  at  right  angles ;  but  rather 
with  eager  step  to  scale  mountains,  or  easily  to  take  his 
way  across  broad  prairies.  His  face  was  thin  and  oval, 
and  its  colour  was  not  unlike  that  of  new  and  highly- 
polished  bronze.  The  features  were  mainly  strong,  but 
regular,  and  full  of  the  imperious  nobility  which  had  won 
the  heart  of  the  dog  and  had  made  the  guide  Christian 
Steiner  take  off  his  hat.  About  the  temples  and  around 
the  eyes  the  swarthy  skin  darkened  into  a  copper-like  hue. 
Yet,  thanks  to  the  eyes,  which  were  large  and  lustrous, 
this  face  was  more  fascinating  than  if  it  had  been  white, 
and  women  said  that  it  was  full  of  beauty.  The  hair  was 
jet  black,  straight,  and  long.  It  hung  down  to  the  young 
man's  shoulders.  But  it  gave  him  no  appearence  of  effem- 
inac4y  ;  on  the  contrary,  it  appeared  to  add  to  the  proud 
manliness  of  his  general  aspect.  He  had  no  beard,  and 
his  thin  and  clearly-cut  lips  had  no  need  of  the  concealing 
shade  of  a  moustache.  If  there  was  any  sign  of  weak- 
ness in  the  face  it  was  in  the  chin,  which  was  a  trifle 


4  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

weaker  than  the  other  features,  and  did  not  seem  to  be- 
long to  the  same  class  of  race  marks  as  the  black  hair 
and  the  bronze  hue.  The  memory  of  a  mingling  of 
bloods  haunted  the  face. 

Now  there  is  one  thing  which  a  strong  and  healthy 
youth  of  twenty-three  can  never  forget  after  he  has  been 
walking  up  hill  and  down  dale  for  eight  consecutive  hours, 
and  that  is  that  he  is  invaded  by  a  roaring,  unreasonable 
hunger,  which  grows  every  moment  stronger  until  it  is 
satisfied.  And,  as  our  friend  had  come  over  the  Brunig 
Pass  and  through  the  Hasli  Thai  that  afternoon,  walking 
with  an  ease  and  rapidity  which  were  the  admiration  and 
envy'of  all  the  tamer  pedestrians  whom  he  outstripped, 
it  is  not  astonishing  that  he  knocked  loudly  on  the  table, 
and  expressed  considerable  annoyance  when  he  found  that 
the  waiter  had  paid  no  attention  whatever  to  his  vague 
order  for  supper.  Hunger  had  brought  the  youth  out  of 
his  reverie,  and  he  was  indignant  that  he  could  not  eat  at 
once.  He  frowned  so  that  the  shock-headed  serving- 
man's  knees  smote  together,  and  that  humble  individual 
betook  himself  to  the  kitchen  to  order,  with  a  perceptible 
whimper  in  his  voice,  "  everything  and  anything  that 
might  be  ready,  for  a  black  looking  stranger,  who  had  an 
eye  like  an  eagle  of  Murren." 

This  animated  description  produced  the  desired  effect 
in  the  culinary  department.  In  a  few  minutes  the  travel- 
ler was  seated  near  the  stone  wall  under  which  the  rapid 
Aar  is  for  ever  singing  its  song,  and  the  aroma  of 
roasted  meat  was  abroad  in  the  garden.  The  stranger 
rejected  the  huge  bottle  of  beer  which  the  waiter  placed 
inquiringly  before  him  ;  ordered  with  discrimination  an 
inoxpensive  wine  from  the  card  which  was  next  proffered  ; 
ridiculed  the  servant  for  not  placing  fresh  water  within  a 
thirsty  man's  reach,  when  hundreds  of  millions  of  gallons 
were  running  in  the  channel  at  their  very  feet;  and 


AN  UNEXPECTED  MEETING.  5 

then  did  ample  justice  to  all  the  viands,  well  and  ill- 
cooked. 

While  he  was  finishing  his  last  modest  glass  of  wine, 
the  waiter  brought  the  Fremden-Liste  —  the  local  journal, 
containing  the  names  of  distinguished  persons  then  hon- 
ouring Interlaken  with  their  presence  —  and  laid  it  on  the 
table. 

"Ah!  yes,"  said  the  youth  in  English,  "that's  ex- 
actly what  I  want;"  and  he  picked  it  up  and  glanced 
eagerly  through  its  columns.  Under  the  head  of  "  Hotel 
Jungfraublick  "  he  found  an  address  which  he  carefully 
noted  down  in  a  memorandum  book. 

"  As  Monsieur  sees,  it  is  a  fine  moonlight  evening,  and 
there  will  be  a  great  crowd  at  the  Kursaal,"  the  waiter 
ventured  to  remark  in  French,  which,  although  fluent,  was 
even  more  indifferent  than  that  of  the  new-comer. 

' '  The  Kursaal  ?    What  is  that  ?  ' ' 

"  Monsieur  will  find  that  it  is  a  very  nice  place  of  pub- 
lic resort,  where  all  the  honourable  ladies  and  gentlemen 
staying  at  Interlaken  assemble  in  the  evening  to  hear  the 
music." 

"Good.     I  will  go  there." 

He  found  his  way  to  his  chamber,  brushed  the  dust 
from  his  clothing,  dipped  his  hands  and  face  in  the  cool 
glacier  water  which  stood  on  the  toilette-table,  looked 
carelessly  at  himself  in  the  diminutive  mirror  hanging 
near  his  bed,  muttered,  "That  will  do  !  "  and  fifteen  min- 
utes later  was  strolling  —  if  a  man  with  such  an  imperial 
gait  could  be  said  to  stroll  —  through  the  pretty  gardens 
of  the  Kursaal. 

It  was  a  warm  tnight  in  August.  The  moon  shone 
splendidly  forth,  and  a  roseate  reflection  of  her  glory  now 
and  then  rested  on  the  Jungfrau's  snowy  brow.  A  few 
clouds  swam  in  the  heavens  ;  breezes  nestled  in  the  odor- 
ous thickets,  or  played  hide-and-seek  in  the  great  alley 


6  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

where  the  sentinel  walnuts  stood.  Behind  the  wooden 
hemicycle  of  the  Kursaal  the  Aar  rushed  merrily  through 
placid  meadows,  and  the  tremendous  mass  of  the  Harder 
stood  out,  black  and  grim,  against  the  Italian  blue  of  the 
sky.  In  this  sheltered  valley  hosts  of  semi-tropical  plants 
bloom  richly  in  the  fragrant  midsummer,  and  their  per- 
fume awakened  in  the  youth's  mind  memories  of  the 
lovely  shores  of  the  lakes  of  Italy  from  which  he  had  re- 
cently come  —  of  Como's  exquisite  banks,  of  vine  and 
flower-surrounded  Bellaggio,  and  of  the  wonderful  islands 
in  Lago  Maggiore,  with  their  terraces  crowded  with  lus- 
trous blooms,  and  their  bushes  in  which  nightingales  sing. 
The  orchestra  was  playing  a  mad  Strauss  waltz,  in  the 
rapturous  measures  of  which  the  moonlight  and  the  carols 
of  birds  and  the  rippling  measures  of  the  Aar  seemed, 
by  some  curious  magic,  to  have  got  entangled.  The 
music  stirred  the  youth's  blood  and  drew  him  toward  it. 
He  entered  the  great  space,  where  lights  were  gleaming, 
and  people  from  every  country  under  the  sun  were  seated 
at  little  tables,  drinking  beer,  or  wine,  or  chocolate,  and 
smoking  cigarettes  and  listening,  or  were  giving  attention 
to  the  waltz  without  puffing  smoke  or  absorbing  liquors. 
As  he  sat  down  not  far  from  the  pavilion  in  which  the 
musicians  were  playing,  and  in  the  very  front  rank  of  the 
listeners,  the  waltz  became  more  and  more  voluptuous, 
dreamy,  intoxicating,  and  the  youth  listened,  his  whole 
frame  aglow  with  sensuous  delight.  But  presently  the 
measures  died  away,  reeling  as  if  overcome  by  the  excess 
of  their  passion  ;  then  the  refrain  ceased,  and  a  buzz  of 
conversation  sprang  up  in  the  crowd.  At  that  moment 
the  discontent  and  the  restless  sorrow  which  were  so 
plainly  written  upon  the  youth's  handsome  face  chased 
away  the  sensation  of  delight  which  the  music  had  caused, 
and  asserted  themselves  more  earnestly  than  ever  before. 
He  remembered  that  he  had  come  to  Europe  —  to  this 


AN  UNEXPECTED   MEETING.  7 

place  —  with  a  purpose,  with  a  task  to  perform  ;  and  he 
could  not  rest  so  long  as  his  duty  remained  unfulfilled. 
The  hundreds  of  people  near  him,  who  seemed  so  happy, 
so  devoid  of  care,  so  purposeless,  annoyed  and  oppressed 
him.  He  was  angry  with  the  thoughtless  world  which 
could  not  or  would  not  divine  that  he  was  the  victim  of  a 
gross  injustice,  and  .thiat  he  was  determined  to  redress 
a  wrong  which  had  assumed  formidable  proportions. 

While  he  was  engaged  in  his  gloomy  meditations,  the 
leader  of  the  orchestra  took  up  his  wand  again,  and  the 
musicians  began  to  play  a  composite  selection,  into  which 
all  the  great  airs  of  Gounod's  "  Faust  "  had  been  skilfully 
interwoven.  As  under  the  deft  hands  of  the  players  the 
beautiful  melodies,  the  half-articulate  cries  of  passion,  the 
murmurs  of  supernatural  spirits  struggling  for  mastery 
over  a  soul,  and  the  ecstatic  song  of  triumphant  love, 
one  by  one  fell  on  the  soft  air ;  as  the  subtle  witchery 
which  Gounod,  the  great  modern  high  priest  of  religious 
mysticism,  has  entwined  about  Goethe's  immortal  poem, 
made  itself  felt,  the  youth's  discontent  and  bitterness 
increased.  The  spirit  of  evil  who  stalks  abroad,  majestic 
and  impressive,  in  the  opera  of  "  Faust,"  seemed  to  have 
placed  his  burning  hand  upon  the  young  man's  brow. 
The  music  discouraged  the  youth  so  profoundly  that  his 
thin  lips  relaxed  and  his  eyes  glistened.  He  had  seen 
the  opera  produced  in  splendour  on  the  Paris  stage,  and 
the  real  significance  of  Faust  had  penetrated  his  soul. 
The  music  recalled  to  him  his  impression  of  the  hapless 
hero  of  the  opera  as  a  helpless  puppet  in  the  hands  of 
spirits  infinitely  more  powerful  than  himself  —  as  a  being 
doomed  to  love,  to  sin,  to  suffer,  to  be  punished,  and  to 
bring  harm  to  the  innocent,  without  being  able  to  stand 
up  against  his  fate.  He  could  not  have  given  expression 
to  the  train  of  thought  which  the  music  had  intensified  in 
his  mind  in  any  other  manner  thaii  by  repeating,  as  he 


8  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

straightway  did,  in  an  energetic  manner,  and  bringing 
down  his  right  hand  smartly  upon  the  table  at  which  he 
sat  — 

"  The  world  is  all  wrong !  the  world  is  all  wrong  !  At 
any  rate,  human  society  is  hopelessly,  fatally  wrong  !  We 
must  have  a  new  society  —  a  new  world  !  " 

Having  thus  formulated  his  proposition,  in  the  impul- 
sive manner  characteristic  of  him,  the  young  man  came 
out  of  his  dream,  and  for  a  moment  or  two  looked  rather 
wildly,  and  perhaps  a  little  stupidly,  about  him  ;  for,  now 
that  the  violence  of  his  emotion  had  culminated,  he  was 
dimly  conscious  that  his  sudden  explosion  of  thought  might 
possibly  have  a  ridiculous  side  to  it.  And  he  could  not, 
even  had  he  been  ordered  on  pain  of  death  to  do  so,  have 
explained  to  any  one  the  subtle  analogy  in  his  mind  be- 
tween his  own  discontent  with  the  present  constitution  of 
society  and  the  great  eloquent  cries  of  human  and  super- 
human anguish  and  despair  which  are  heard  throughout 
the  opera  of  Faust. 

He  withdrew  his  hand  from  the  table,  and  began  to 
hope  that  his  outburst  had  escaped  the  attention  of  any 
one  who  might  have  understoood  his  lauguage.  But  he 
was  somewhat  disconcerted,  as  the  last  notes  of  the  music 
died  away,  to  see  his  nearest  neighbour  lean  toward  him, 
and,  with  a  benevolent  although  rather  amused  expression 
on  his  countenance,  beckon  him  to  approach.  He  flushed 
hotly,  but  moved  in  the  direction  indicated,  fancying  that 
he  was  about  to  hear  some  sort  of  rebuke  for  his  passion- 
ate conduct. 

The  gentleman  who  accosted  him  was  a  large,  pleasant- 
faced  personage,  wrapped  in  a  light  gray  overcoat.  Health 
aud  honesty  beamed  from  his  clear  blue  eyes,  and  happi- 
ness sat  on  his  brow.  He  removed  his  hat  courteously, 
and  said  to  the  youth  in  English,  with  a  scarcely  percepti- 
ble German  accent  — 


AN  UNEXPECTED   MEETING.  9 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  will  you  allow  me  to  ask  you 
why  you  spoke  as  you  did  just  now?  I  happened  to  hear 
you,  and  as  my  train  of  thought  was  then  proceeding  in  an 
exactly  opposite  direction,  I  fancied  —  well,  in  fact,  I  was 
curious  to  know  why  you  think  the  world  is  all  wrong, 
when  I  think  it  is  all  right." 

"  There  was  no  suspicion  of  sarcasm  in  the  grave  voice, 
and  the  young  man  felt  reassured.  At  the  same  time  he 
was  determined  not  to  be  lacking  in  politeness.  He  in 
turn  took  off  his  hat,  and  answered,  rather  hesitatingly  — 

"  Well,  sir,  I  suppose  I  —  indeed,  I  must  apologize  for 
thinking  aloud.  I  reckon  the  music  started  my  train  of 
thought,  as  3'ou  call  it,  rather  faster  than  was  necessary. 
I'm  right  sorry  to  have  disturbed  you.  I  did  not  know 
that  there  was  any  English-speaking  person  so  near  me." 

"My  dear  sir,  half  the  persons  in  this  audience  are 
English  or  American.  If  a  man  wanted  to  promulgate 
a  theory  to  members  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  community,  he 
could  not  have  a  better  opportunity  than  is  furnished  right 
here." 

The  youth  flushed  again,  but  a  look  from  the  honest 
blue  eyes  quelled  his  impatience. 

"  I  have  no  ambition,  sir,"  he  said,  "  to  be  a  prophet  or 
a  preacher.  I  only  spoke,  more  vehemently  than  I  should, 
out  of  the  bitterness  of  my  own  heart.  You  say,  sir,  that 
the  world  seems  to  you  all  right.  Perhaps  you  have  not 
been  called  upon  to  experience  its  injustice,  or  to  feel  the 
despair  caused  by  that  injustice,  so  often  and  so  deeply  as 
I  have." 

"  You  interest  me  very  much,"  said  the  pleasant-faced, 
blue-eyed  man,  turning  for  a  moment  to  say  a  few  words 
to  two  ladies  sitting  near  him,  then  moving  his  chair 
directly  to  the  youth's  table.  "  I  hope  you  will  not  think 
that  I  intended  to  pry  into  any  sorrow  or  misfortune  which 
may  have  made  your  life  bitter  for  a  time.  But,  as  I 


10  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

observed,  your  remark  startled  me  —  not  so  much  by  its 
emphasis  as  by  the  fact  that  I  was  thinking  exactly  the 
contrary  of  what  you  said.  I  was  thinking,  as  we  drove 
down  here  from  the  Jungfraublick  half  an  hour  ago, 
through  the  charming  valley,  so  full  of  —  of  moonlight 
and  —  and  peace,  what  a  good  and  well-ordered  world, 
on  the  whole,  this  world  of  ours  has  become,  and  what  an 
amount  of  happiness  there  is  in  it  for  any  one  who  is 
willing  to  take  it.  It  is  a  very  commonplace  reflection,  I 
suppose  ;  but  I  believe  it  is  very  true,  also.  Still,  I  know 
that  to-day^  there  are  whole  classes  of  people  who  think  as 
3rou  do  —  that  the  world  has  gone  wrong  —  and  I  always 
like  to  get  at  that  point  of  view  and  see  what  it  is  like. 
This  is  the  recess.  The  orchestra  will  not  play  again  for 
ten  minutes."  He  produced  a  silver-bound  Russia  leather 
cigar-case.  "  Will  you  smoke  a  cigar?  They  are  excellent 
Havanas  —  not  like  the  rubbish  which  they  give  you  here." 

"Thank  you,  I  never  use  tobacco.  Excuse  me  for 
changing  the  subject  for  a  moment,  but  did  you  not  speak 
as  if  you  were  staying  at  the  Jungfraublick  Hotel?  " 

"  I  am  staying  there  ;  yes." 

"Can  3'ou  tell  me  whether  Mr.  Harrelston,  the  banker, 
is  there  at  present?  I  saw  his  name  in  the  list  of  foreign 
arrivals  this  evening,  but "  •  , 

"  He  is  still  at  the  hotel  —  that  is —  in  fact — I  am  Mr. 
Harrelston,"  said  the  blue-eyed  gentleman,  a  little  stiffly, 
and  unconsciously  moving  back  his  chair.  Your  great 
banker  does  not  like  to  come  into  too  close  contact  with 
the  individual  whose  letters  of  introduction  he  has  not 
seen,  when  that  individual  apparently  wants  something  of 
him.  He  now  regretted  that  he  had  been  so  hasty  in 
addressing  the  young  man,  whose  originality  had  tempted 
him  to  open  a  conversation  in  which  he  had  not  supposed 
that  the  easy  etiquette  of  a  watering-place  would  require 
any  disclosure  of  identity. 


AN   UNEXPECTED   MEETING.  11 

The  youth  arose,  and  gravely  took  from  his  breast-" 
pocket  a  small  black  case.  From  it  he  extracted  a  card, 
which  he  handed  to  the  banker,  saying  — 

"Perhaps  you  will  allow  me  to  call  upon  you  to-mor- 
row. I  have  some  urgent " 

"Oh,  if  it  is  a  matter  of  business,"  said  Mr.  Har- 
relston,  holding  the  card  up  so  that  the  light  could  fall 
on  it,  ' '  perhaps  you  would  better  write  to  our  Mr.  Wes- 
sels  in  Paris.  I  am  resting  at  present,  you  understand  — 
doctors  allow  no  attention  to  details  —  you " 

"  Sir,  I  have  come  four  thousand  five  hundred  miles 
expressly  to  see  you  at  once,"  answered  the  young  man. 

Mr.  Harrelston  moved  his  chair  again,  and  was  silent 
for  a  moment ;  then  he  read  the  name  from  the  card 
slowly  and  thoughtfully. 

"'Pleasant  Merriuott.'  I  don't  think  I  ever  heard 
your  name  before.  It  is  against  my  rules  to  see  any  one 
on  business  during  my  vacation,  Mr.  Merrinott.  If  I 
make  an  exception  in  your  favour,  it  will  be  because 
I  opened  the  conversation  with  you  to-night.  Four  thou- 
sand five  hundred  miles !  You  must  be  from  America. 
And  a  fellow-countryman  of  mine,  I  suppose?  " 

"No,  sir,"  said  the  youth,  rather  grimly,  and  stand- 
ing very  erect.  "  I  am  an  Indian." 


CHAPTER  H. 

THE   PROTEST. 

MR.  HARRELSTON  was  seated  at  a  desk  in  front  of  an 
open  window,  in  his  private  room  in  the  Jungfraublick 
Hotel,  at  eleven  o'clock  on  the  morning  after  his  inter- 
view with  Pleasant  Merrinott  in  the  Kursaal  Garden. 
The  banker  had  a  map  spread  open  before  him,  a  pile  of 
documents  at  his  right  hand,  and  two  or  three  black 
morocco  portfolios  at  his  left.  After  studying  the  map 
intently  for  a  few  minutes,  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair, 
and  looked  out  upon  the  mountain  which  arose  not  far 
away  —  a  mass  of  dark  blue  at  its  base,  and  of  tender 
green  at  its  summit,  which  was  crowned  with  delicate 
cloud  wreaths. 

He  was  more  than  ever  inclined  just  then  to  cherish  his 
conviction  that,  on  the  whole,  the  world  is  an  excellent 
world,  and  that  it  cannot  with  truth  be  said  that  it  is 
going  wrong.  "  Even  if  at  this  moment  I  were  to  be 
overwhelmed  by  some  great  sorrow,"  he  said,  thinking 
aloud,  as  he  often  did  when  alone,  "  I  should  still  regard 
the  world  as  good  enough.  Happiness  lies  within  our 
very  grasp  ;  all  we  have  to  do  is  to  close  our  fingers. 
Men  are  the  authors  of  their  own  miseries.  If  they 
would  only  move  along  naturally  and  at  reasonable  speed 
they  would  have  no  trouble.  But  some  of  them  must 
fiiid  paths  for  themselves  to  the  right  and  the  left,  and 

12 


THE  PROTEST.  13 

the  consequence  is  that  they  fall  into  traps  and  get  hurt. 
Others  are  anxious  to  get  ahead  of  the  natural  progress 
of  events.  No  wonder  that  they  come  to  grief.  The 
true  way  is  to  take  life  as  a  blessing,  as  a  grand,  noble 
thing  to  enjoy  and  prize  ;  to  despise  death  ;  and  to  bear 
affliction  with  equanimity.  I  don't  like  pessimists. 
Neither  do  I  believe  in  optimism.  Safest  in  the  middle, 
as  my  old  partner  used  to  say.  He  always  repeated  it  in 
Latin,  but  that  didn't  make  it  any  more  truthful,  I  sup- 
pose. Now,  what  do  people  gain  by  going  about  thump- 
ing on  tables,  and  declaring  that  human  society  is  a  fraud, 
and  that  it  must  all  be  built  over  from  the  bottom?  It's 
absurd !  I  am  half  inclined  to  tell  that  young  fellow  so 
when  he  comes  here  to-day.  An  Indian  ?  What  kind  of 
an  Indian,  I  wonder?  Perhaps  he  can  tell  me  something 
about  this  rail ' ' 

Here  Mr.  Harrelston  stopped  short,  and  reflected  for  a 
moment.  A  grim  smile  irradiated  his  countenance. 

"Of  course;  that's  it,"  he  resumed;  "  what  a  stupid 
ass  I  was  not  to  have  thought  of  that  at  once.  He  has 
heard  of  our  proposed  connection  with  this  railroad,  and 
he  has  been  sent  here  to  tell  me  something  about  it. 
Of  course ;  that  explains  his  stiffness !  Hum !  he's  an 
enemy  of  the  enterprise.  Yes,  yes ;  now  it  is  all  clear. 
Very  well ;  we  shall  hear  what  he  has  to  say  when  he 
comes  at  twelve  o'clock." 

The  banker  was  about  to  bend  over  his  map  once  more 
when  a  sparrow  flew  down  to  the  sill  of  the  window,  uttered 
one  or  two  impatient  cries,  saucily  eyed  Mr.  Harrelston, 
then  flew  away  to  return  a  moment  later  in  company  with 
another,  more  shrill  of  voice  and  saucier  than  himself. 
Mr.  Harrelston  surveyed  the  new-comers  with  a  look  of 
comical  consternation. 

"  Now  we  shall  have  no  peace  until  the  sparrows  have 
been  fed,"  he  remarked.  "  Alice  is  not  far  off,  and  she 


14  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

will  make  a  fine  mess  of  my  maps  and  papers,  unless  I 
move  them." 

He  arose  and  drew  the  desk  to  one  side,  and  the  chair 
after  it,  the  sparrows  not  even  deigning  to  move  from  the 
sill.  They  were  evidently  expecting  a  distribution  of  alms. 
"While  he  was  folding  up  papers  and  examining  letters, 
there  was  a  gentle  knock  at  the  door,  and  a  soft  voice  said, 

' '  Papa  !  may  I  come  in  ?  " 

"There's  Alice.  Hum!  no  more  work  until  four 
o'clock  now  ;  and  if  she  knew  I  had  been  at  it  this  morn- 
ing she  would  scold  me.  Come  in,  daughter." 

"  Please  open  the  door,  papa.     I  have  both  hands  full." 

Mr.  Harrelston  hastened  to  comply  with  this  request, 
and,  as  his  daughter  entered,  holding  a  large  loaf  of  bread 
in  one  hand  and  a  prettily  carved  wooden  box  in  the  other, 
he  stooped  and  kissed  her  gently  on  the  forehead. 

"How  charmingly  you  are  dressed  this  morning, 
•Cherie ! ' '  said  the  father,  with  a  note  of  loving  admira- 
tion in  his  voice. 

"Oh,  papa,  do  you  think  you  would  really  know  if  I 
were  dressed  entirely  out  of  fashion?  You  dear  old 
critic,  I  should  not  dare  to  wear  this  costume  anywhere 
but  here." 

"  Now,  my  child,  you  know  that  you  chose  it  because 
it  is  bewitching,  and  because  it  will  make  those  'dowdy 
Prussian  and  Bavarian  girls  at  the  Kursaal  green  with 
envy." 

' '  What  an  idea  !  As  if  I  ever  looked  at  that  —  that 
sort  of  girl ! ' '  And  the  daughter  hastened  across  the 
room  to  the  window-sill,  where  more  than  forty  sparrows 
were  now  clamorously  demanding  their  breakfast. 

"  Take  this  box,  papa !  I  bought  it  for  you  to  put 
your  papers  in.  Only  thirty  francs;  isn't  it  lovely?  I 
want  to  buy  a  dozen  to  put  bon-bons  in  on  New  Year's 
day.  Do  take  it,  or  I  shall  drop  it !  "  And  as  the  banker 


THE   PROTEST.  15 

took  the  present,  Miss  Harrelston  marshalled  the  birds, 
and  strewed  a  line  of  bread-crumbs  on  the  sill.  "Now, 
greedy,"  she  said  to  one  tiny,  slate-coloured  wretch  that 
seemed  to  take  delight  in  preventing  others  from  eating, 
"  if  you  don't  behave,  you  shall  be  banished.  Papa,  do 
see  these  three  fighting  for  this  large  crumb !  Oh,  the 
little  monsters  !  How  they  pick  each  other !  " 

She  turned  enthusiastically  to  him,  her  young  eyes 
aflame  with  innocent  delight,  and  her  cheeks  glowing. 
Her  father  put  the  box  down  on  the  map,  and  stood  gaz- 
ing almost  reverently  at  her. 

Alice  Harrelston  had  a  right  to  call  herself  an  Amer- 
ican girl,  although  she  had  never  been  in  America  in  her 
life.  Her  father  was  born  in  Germany,  had  lived  in  the 
United  States  for  twenty  years,  had  grown  to  be  a  re- 
sponsible member  of  a  great  New  York  banking  firm, 
and  had  finalty  been  sent  to  Paris  as  its  resident  partner 
and  the  manager  of  its  branch  house  in  that  city.  There 
he  met  and  married  a  charming  Philadelphia  lady,  and 
there  Alice  his  daughter  was  born.  Nineteen  years  had 
passed  over  the  banker's  head  since  he  had  first  taken 
Alice  as  a  baby  in  his  arms,  and  during  those  nineteen 
years  she  had  never  been  out  of  his  sight  more  than  two 
or  three  days  at  a  time.  The  good  banker  had  led  a 
busy,  uneventful  life,  rarely  absent  from  his  home  unless 
some  member  of  his  family  were  with  him.  Prosperity 
had  crowned  all  his  efforts,  and  at  fifty  he  possessed  a 
handsome  fortune,  the  reputation  of  a  "  business  leader," 
a  mansion  on  a  fashionable  boulevard,  a  country  house 
on  a  cliff  in  Normandy,  and  an  unsullied  record.  Clean- 
handed, clean-hearted,  pure  in  his  affections  as  a  child, 
generous,  loyal,  Eric  Harrelston  was  loved  by  his  friends 
and  thoroughly  respected,  as  well  as  a  little  feared,  by 
his  competitors.  His  twent}r  years'  residence  in  America, 
whither  he  had  gone  as  a  boy  of  fifteen,  had  stamped 


16  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

him  with  the  mark  of  the  dauntless  young  nation.     His 
habits  of  thought,  his  ambitions,  were  all  American. 

Alice  had  inherited  beauty  from  her  mother,  and  a 
certain  decided  and  independent  expression  of  feature 
unlike  that  of  any  European  woman  showed  that  she  was 
American.  Her  form  was  more  rounded,  her  consti- 
tution was  mere  robust,  and  her  voice  was  lower  and 
sweeter  than  those  of  American  girls  who  have  always 
lived  in  their  own  country.  In  the  moist  air  of  Northern 
France  she  had  flourished  like  -a  rose  on  a  bush  that 
strikes  deep  root  in  generous  soil ;  while  in  Philadelphia 
or  Baltimore  she  would  have  grown  up  stately  ami  fragile 
and  delicate  as  a  lity.  Although  her  mother  did  not 
believe  in  the  extreme  timidity  which  French  matrons 
display  with  regard  to  any  independent  action  on  the  part 
of  their  daughters,  she  }Tet  exercised  closer  supervision  of 
Alice's  comings  and  goings  than  girls  iu  the  United 
States  are  accustomed  to,  or  would  like  to  submit  to. 
The  result  was  that  Alice  knew  but  little  of  the  world ; 
her  first  winter  in  society  had,  oddly  enough, 'displeased 
rather  than  dazzled  her ;  and  the  verdict  of  the  fashion- 
able circle  in  which  she  was  just  beginning  to  move  was 
that  she  was  a  lovely,  unconventional,  impulsive  girl,  but 
that  she  was  not  calculated  to  lead  in  social  life.  Alice 
certainly  did  not  propose  to  lead,  still  less  to  follow  ;  she 
had  a  mind  of  her  own,  manifested  in  dress  as  well  as  in 
speech.  She  had  taken  from  the  French  their  best  traits, 
native  grace  and  utter  unconsciousness  of  self  in  deport- 
ment, arid  had  not  contracted  their  impatience  and  intol- 
erance. She  was  vivacious,  but  not  satirical ;  romantic 
in  a  certain  degree,  but  not  melancholy ;  was  fond  of 
devotion,  but  not  exacting.  The  gallantry  of  American 
gentlemen  seemed  to  her  full  of  an  exquisite  refinement, 
slightly  tinged  with  servility  ;  the  manner  in  which  many 
American  young  girls  received  the  homage  of  gentlemen 


THE  PROTEST.  17 

appeared  to  her  to  exact  that  servility,  and  to  consider 
it  a  just  tribute  paid  at  the  throne  of  beauty.  She  was 
intensely  patriotic  and  national,  notwithstanding  her  few 
criticisms  of  her  countrymen  and  countrywomen.  The 
atmosphere  of  Paris  is  cosmopolitan,  and  consequently 
Alice  was  not  provincial  in  her  likes  or  dislikes.  Amer- 
ican nationality,  in  its  broadest  and  finest  signification, 
was  stamped  upon  her  soul,  and  she  needed  only  to  be 
sent  for  a  time  to  the  United  States  to  perfect  the  Amer- 
ican ideas  of  education  and  female  independence  which 
she  already  possessed. 

She  was  a  pretty  picture  as  she  knelt  in  front  of  the 
window-sill  to  settle  the  dispute  between  the  trio  of  quar- 
relsome sparrows,  and  as  the  soft  Swiss  sunshine  fell 
upon  her  glossy  braids  of  black  hair  and  her  sweet  low 
brow  —  a  brow  such  as  poets  love  in  women.  There  were 
great  possibilities  of  passion  in  her  face.  The  thin  lips, 
the  brilliant  eyes,  the  olive  cheeks  bespoke  both  fire  and 
endurance.  She  was  not  a  woman  to  fade  in  a  summer. 
So  thought  her  father,  and  rejoiced  in  the  thought  as  he 
looked  down  upon  her.  She  was  in  perfect  health,  and 
health  itself  is  wonderfully  charming. 

"Well,  my  love,"  said  her  father,  "I  leave  you  to 
finish  your  duty  to  the  sparrows.  I  am  going  to  walk  for 
half  an  hour,  and  shall  be  back  at  twelve  exactly,  as  I 
have  an  appointment  at  that  time.  Will  you  kindly  leave 
the  room  in  good  order  when  this  feathered  gentry  has 
retired?  The  desk,  you  know,  belongs  in  front  of  the 
window." 

"  Yes,  papa.     And  don't  you  like  the  wooden  box?  " 

"  It  is  very  pretty." 

"Papa,  is  —  is  your  appointment  with  that  strange 
gentleman  to  whom  you  were  talking  at  the  Kursaal  last 
evening  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  my  love." 


18  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

"Is  he  an  American?  " 

"I  —  I  really  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Harrclston,  as  he 
closed  the  door  behind  him,  a  little  annoyed  that  his 
daughter  should  betray  any  interest  whatever  in  such  an 
eccentric  individual. 

Punctually  at  twelve  the  banker  returned,  to  find  all 
traces  of  the  sparrows'  feast  vanished,  and  his  papers 
charmingly  disarranged  in  various  corners  of  the  desk. 
The  map  had  been  carefully  packed  away  at  the  bottom 
of  the  new  wooden  box. 

"  I  wish  I  had  told  her  to  let  my  papers  alone,"  solilo- 
quized Mr.  Ilarrelston,  as  he  laboured  to  bring  things  once 
more  into  shape.  He  was  spreading  the  map  anew  when 
a  servant  brought  him  a  card  on  which  was  written,  in 
compact,  vigorous  script  — 

"  PLEASANT   MERRINOTT." 

"  Show  him  in,  if  you  please." 

The  sen-ant  did  so,  casting  a  surprised  look  at  the 
young  man,  whose  motions  were  quicker  and  freer  than 
those  of  any  person  he  had  ever  seen  before. 

Mr.  Harrclston  greeted  his  visitor  with  a  cheerful  smile, 
saying,  "Well,  Mr.  Merrinott,  does  the  world  suit  you 
any  better  this  morning?  Doesn't  this  bracing  air  drive 
all  morbid  meditations  out  of  your  head,  and  make  you 
wish  to  live  a  thousand  years?  " 

"Not  exactly,  sir;  but  I  reckon  I  will  have  to  own 
•that  my  mood  was  rather  ridiculous  last  night." 

"Hum!  No!  It  was  all  explained  in  the  little  con- 
versation that  we  had.  Now,  Mr.  Merrinott,  kindly  take 
a  scat,  and  tell  me  what  your  business  is.  I  went  to 
IMlaggio,  then  came  to  Lucerne,  and  finally  here,  to  get 
away  from  business  ;  but  I  sec  it's  impossible.  I  don't 
complain.  You  say  you  have  come  a  long  distance,  and 


THE   PROTEST.  19 

I  owe  you  some  attention.  We  will  come  to  the  matter 
at  once,  if  you  please." 

"  I  came,  sir,  from  America  to  Paris  to  see  you.  They 
told  me  you  were  at  Bellaggio.  I  went  there.  The}7  told 
me  there  that  you  were  in  Lucerne.  I  went  there ;  you 
had  gone.  It  was  by  accident,  after  arriving  here,  that  I 
learned  of  your  presence  in  Interlaken.  I  felt  it  my  duty 
to  see  you  at  once.  I  know  it  is  an  intrusion,  but  my 
errand  is  urgent." 

"  Go  on,  Mr.  Merrinott." 

"  I  see,  sir,"  continued  the  new-comer,  taking  a  chair, 
casting  his  hat  carelessly  on  another,  and  speaking  very 
clearly  and  distinctly,  "that  you  have  a  map  of  the  south- 
western portion  of  North  America  lying  open  before  you." 

"I  have." 

"  And  I  see  that  a  blue  line  has  been  drawn  across  a 
certain  section  of  the  map." 

"  Your  observation  is  correct,"  said  Mr.  Harrelston, 
moving  uneasily  in  his  chair.  He  would  have  liked  the 
young  man  to  be  a  little  more  deferential. 

"Across  Missouri,  Kansas,  the  Indian  Nation,  and 
Texas." 

"  You  are  right." 

"  It  shows  that  I  have  not  arrived  a  moment  too  soon." 

"  I  hardly  understand  you." 

"I  will  endeavour  to  make  my  meaning  perfectly  clear. 
Mr.  Harrelston,  I  am  a  citizen  of  the  Indian  Nation,  and 
a  Cherokee.  As  you  are  probably  aware,  the  country  in 
which  I  and  my  people  live  is  entirely  separate  and  distinct 
from  the  United  States,  and  our  possession  of  it  is 
guaranteed  to  us  by  solemn  treaties." 

"  I  am  aware  of  the  manner  in  which  the  Indian  Terri- 
tory was  created." 

"Very  well.  Perhaps  you  know,  too,  that  an  over- 
whelming majority  of  our  people  would,  if  required  to 


20  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

express  their  opinion  on  the  subject,  vote  against  any 
measures  which  should  tend  to  make  our  territory  part  and 
parcel  of  the  United  States." 

"Ah!" 

"Yes,  sir.  I  need  not  enter  into  the  reasons  for  this 
feeling.  Possibly  you  understand  them  as  well  as  I  do. 
Perhaps  you  would  call  them  sentimental.  They  are,  at 
any  rate,  clearly  defined.  The  Indians  inhabiting  the  so- 
called  '  Indian  Nation  '  are  opposed  to  any  movement  or 
series  of  manoeuvres  tending  toward  their  absorption  into 
the  United  States,  under  territorial  government,  or  in  any 
other  manner." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Harrelston,  taking  up  the  map  and 
folding  it  rather  impatiently,  "  I  know  that  the  sentiment 
of  a  large  class  of  the  Indians  is  opposed  to  —  to  all  kinds 
of  progress,  more  especially  railroads,  because  of  a  fear 
that  the  United  States  may  swallow  up  the  '  Nation,' 
as  you  call  it.  But  there  is  also  a  very  large  class  that  is 
in  favour  of  opening  the  Territory  to  all  the  advantages 
of  civilization,  and  to  joining  fortunes  with  the  United 
States." 

"No,  sir;  no,  sir,"  cried  the  young  man  excitedly, 
rising  from  his  chair.  "  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Harrelston,  for 
insisting  that  you  are  mistaken  in  this  matter.  The  mass 
of  our  people  desire  to  remain  entirely  independent  of  the 
American  Government,  sir.  They  intend  to  insist  upon 
their  rights,  sir.  They  have  determined  to  make  a 
vigorous  effort  at  self-defence,  sir.  Now,  Mr.  Harrelston, 
allow  me  to  state  the  case.  Some  recent  acts  of  the 
United  States  Congress  provide  for  two  series  of  grants 
of  land  in  the  Indian  Nation  —  of  our  land  —  which  they 
have  no  right  to  grant,  even  conditionally,  any  more  than 
they  have  to  give  away  the  land  of  the  Shah  of  Persia. 
Yes,  sir  ;  it  is  an  infamy,  sir  !  The  Congress  grants  our 
land,  conditionally,  to  railroad  companies,  who  are  building 


THE  PROTEST.  21 

lines  of  travel  through  our  country  to  connect  together 
States  of  the  American  Union  which  lie  on  either  side  of 
us.  The  first  of  these  grants  were  conditioned  upon  the 
voluntary  consent  of  the  Indians,  which  will  never  be 
given,  sir,  never !  and  therefore  we  may  leave  those  out  of 
the  question.  But  the  second,  sir,  are  more  dangerous. 
They  are  conditioned  substantially  upon  two  contingencies 
which  may  be  forced  on  us  by  the  arbitrary  action  of  the 
United  States  Congress  :  the  first,  that  our  lauds  become 
the  public  lands  of  the  United  States  by  reversion  or 
extinction  of  title ;  the  second,  that  they  be  embraced 
within  a  State  or  Territory  of  the  American  Union." 

Mr.  Harrelston  laid  down  the  map,  and  listened  in- 
tently. The  young  man  walked  nervously  to  and  fro,  as 
he  continued  — 

"Yes,  sir ;  this  second  series  of  conditional  land  grants 
is  where  the  danger  lies.  Danger,  sir,  for  ws,  for  the 
Indians,  who  are  as  proud  of  their  independent  nationality 
as  you  are  of  yours  !  Suppose,  sir,  that  Congress  should 
pass  a  Territorial  bill,  throwing  our  lands  within  an 
organized  Territory  of  the  United  States,  and  at  the  same 
time  robbing  us  of  the  title  of  our  land  and  vesting  it  in  the 
United  States,  by  special  declaration,  or  reversion,  through 
the  extinction  of  our  national  autonomy.  "Well,  sir,  in  that 
case  millions  of  acres  of  our  lands  which  would  be  required 
to  fulfil  the  land  grants  would  revert,  in  spite  of  our 
objections,  to  the  railroad  companies  for  whose  benefit  they 
were  granted  by  Congress.  And  it  is  because  we  know, 
sir,  that  these  railroad  companies  have  mortgaged  the 
entire  lines,  real  and  prospective,  of  their  roads,  and  have 
filed  the  mortgages  in  the  Interior  Department  at  Wash- 
ington, and  have  issued  and  sold,  mainly  in  New  York  and 
Europe,  millions  of  dollars'  worth  ,of  bonds  on  these 
mortgages,  —  or,  in  other  words,  on  the  lands  belonging  to 
our  people,  which  they  propose  to  take  away  from  us  at 


22  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

the  first  opportunity,  that  I  have  come  here  to  see  you  to- 
day, sir,  and  to  protest,  sir,  with  all  my  might,  against  the 
further  placing  of  these  bonds  in  Europe  !  Why,  sir,  your 
sales  can  only  be  made  valid  after  you  have  taken  our 
lands  away  from  us  without  our  consent,  for  we  will  never 
consent !  It  is  an  infamy,  sir,  an  infamy.  Well,  sir,  a 
few  words  more.  They  told  me  at  home  that  Mr.  Harrels- 
ton  was  the  man  who  had  charge  of  the  sale  of  the  bonds 
in  Europe  ;  that  his  powerful  connections  and  knowledge 
would  enable  him  to  place  all  the  bonds,  and  so  to  hasten 
on  the  time  when  our  lands  are  to  be  taken  from  us. 
Then,  I  said,  '  I  cannot  think  that  Mr.  Ilarrelston  under- 
stands this  matter,  and  I  will  go  to  Europe,  and  find  him 
and  lay  the  subject  before  him.'  So  I  started  at  once. 
And  here  are  my  credentials." 

"Credentials?"  said  Mr.  Ilarrelston.  "Why  cre- 
dentials? I  see  no  occasion  to  doubt  your  sincerity,  and 
your  earnestness  is  very  evident.  Perhaps  I  might  state 
the  case  rather  differently,  however.  I  am  afraid  you  are 
not  altogether  impartial  in  your  statement  of  the  facts." 

"Facts,  sir !  I  have  told  you  the  truth  !  "  He  handed 
Mr.  Ilarrelston  a  letter,  which  the  banker  opened  and  rrud. 

"That  paper,"  said  the  young  man,  slowly  and  with 
less  heat  than  he  had  shown  in  his  brief  protest,  "is  signed 
by  many  of  our  prominent  men  in  the  Cherokee  Nation. 
Some  of  them  would,  perhaps,  be  considered  in  other 
countries  as  humble  and  ignorant  folks.  But  I  know 
they  are  sincere,  and  I  believe  as  they  believe ;  so  I 
promised  them  to  bring  their  protest  before  yon,  and 
before  all  who  may  be  instrumental,  as  you  may  perhaps 
be,  without  wishing  to  do  so,  in  perpetrating  a  great 
injustice." 

The  letter  was  a  brief  authorization  of  Pleasant  Mcrri- 
nott  to  represent  and  to  state  the  sentiments  of  a  large 
number  of  persons  whose  names  were  signed  hi  a  long 


THE  PROTEST.  23 

line  below.  Some  of  the  names  were  very  curious.  Mr. 
Harrelston  read  them  one  after  another :  ' '  Cornelius 
Blackfox,  Filex  Redbird,  Arch  Sixkillcr,  Hurry  Walkin- 
stick,  Scale-  Ragsdalc,  Sultuckee  Charlie,  Syneguvar, 
Stoning  Deer,  Garwalarkee,  Fishinghawk  Killerbill, 
Watts  Johnson,  Mix  Water  Mink,  Ridder  Sleepingman, 
Tee-cah-see-mu-Kee,  Ezekiel  Hair,  John  Bross,  Stand-iu- 
the- Water,  Blue  Trap,  John  Proctor,"  and  a  host  of  others. 

' '  And  these  gentlemen  have  sent  you  to  protest  against 
any  participation  on  my  part  in  the  sale  of  any  class  of 
bonds  of  the  railway  companies  which  have  interests  in 
your  country,  because  they  fear  that  it  may  result  in  the 
loss  of  their  lauds." 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  banker  looked  at  the  3*oung  man  keenly  as  he 
handed  him  back  the  letter.  After  a  little  pause,  he  said, 
"  Was  it  their  idea,  or  yours?  " 

Pleasant  Merriuott  flushed.  "  Well,  sir,  it  was  mine," 
he  answered ;  "but  they  gladly  assented  to  it."  He 
now  spoke  in  a  loud,  excited  manner.  "And  I  hope,  sir, 
that  you  will  consider  the  protest  as  not  without  value. 
Our  people  will  never  consent  to  the  absorption  of  their 
Territory  into  the  United  States,  and " 

"  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Merriuott ;  it  seems  to  me  that  it  is 
rather  early  to  be  certain  of  that." 

"No,  sir;  they  will  never  consent;  they  will  fight 
first !  Bear  that  in  mind,  sir ;  they  will  fight  first !  They 
have  been  driven  enough,  sir ;  they  will  make  a  stand ! 
Any  attempt  to  force  them  to  unite  their  fortunes  with  an 
alien  people  which  has  alwaj-s  persecuted  them  would  be 
an  infamy  —  an  infamy,  sir  !  " 

"Really,  Mr.  Merrinott " 

"  Sir,  I  have  done  my  duty,  and  I  will  not  intrude 
upon  you  any  longer  at  present ; ' '  and  he  turned  to  pick 
up  his  hat. 


24  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

Mr.  Harrelston  was  a  little  vexed.  He  did  not  relish 
the  dictatorial  tone  of  his  visitor,  and  he  would  have 
liked  to  ask  him  a  few  questions  concerning  the  Territory 
and  its  future  which  he  thought  would  embarrass  him. 
While  he  was  deciding  whether  or  not  he  would  ask  the 
Indian  to  call  again,  he  observed  that  Pleasant  Merrinott 
was  gazing  steadfastly  at  a  corner  of  the  room,  in  which 
was  a  high  pedestal,  with  a  bronze  Japanese  dragon  loll- 
ing upon  it.  Beside  this  pedestal,  and  so  near  that  the 
dragon's  breath  might  be  fancied  to  fan  her  hair,  stood 
Alice,  with  her  hands  filled  with  flowers.  She  had  just 
entered  through  a  door  which  communicated  with  the 
private  dining-room  in  which  the  servants  had  spread  the 
banker's  family  dejetiner,  always  served  a  few  minutes 
before  one  o'clock.  The  young  man  seemed  spell-bound  ; 
he  gazed  at  the  beautiful  girl  with  undisguised  admi- 
ration, and  did  not  offer  to  stir.  Mr.  Harrelston  stepped 
briskly  in  front  of  him,  blotting  out  the  vision  with  his 
compact  form,  and  Pleasant  Merrinott  recovered  his 
senses. 

"  Papa,  I  did  not  mean  to  intrude.  I  thought  I  should 
find  you  disengaged,"  said  Alice.  "Mr.  Cliff  has  come 
to  dtje&ner.  See  what  beautiful  flowers  he  has  brought 
us." 

"Well,  Mr.  Harrelston,"  said  the  Indian,  moving 
toward  the  door,  "I  hope  you  will  overlook  my  warmth 
in  this  matter,  and  perhaps  consider  what  I  have  said 
as  not  without  some  weight.  And  I  will  bid  you  good 
day." 

"  Since  you  are  determined  to  go,  Mr.  Mcrrinott, 
before  you  give  me  a  chance  to  state  the  case  in  a  way 
rather  dissimilar  to  your  views,  I  must  not  keep  you. 
But  we  shall  meet  again.  Have  I  your  address?  Is  it 
on  the  card?  " 

"I  am  at  the  Hotel  du  Pont.     Good  morning."     He 


THE   PKOTEST.  25 

made  a  bow,  which  Alice  felt  had  been  intended  espe- 
cially for  her,  and  went  out  in  his  quick,  graceful  way. 

"  Well,  I  declare,  I  don't  know  whether  to  like  or  dis- 
like that  young  fellow,"  said  the  banker,  as  he  followed 
his  daughter  into  the  dining-roorn. 

"  What  is  his  name,  papa?  "  said  Alice. 

"  Pleasant  Merrinott.  A  mellifluous  name  for  so  earnest 
and  stern  a  person." 

"Pleasant  Merrinott?"  said  a  deep  voice;  and  Mr. 
Cliff,  a  tall,  elegant,  slender  man  of  forty,  turned  from 
the  window  out  of  which  he  had  been  looking,  to  join  in 
the  conversation.  "Pleasant  Merrinott?  Why,  he  is  a 
Cherokee  —  that  is,  partly  so.  Is  lie  here  ?  " 

"  He  has  been  here  this  morning.  Did  you  ever  meet 
him  when  you  were  in  the  arm}'?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  saw  him  at  Fort  Gibson,  in  the  Indian  Nation, 
when  I  was  stationed  there,  the  year  before  I  resigned. 
He  is  an  enthusiast.  I'll  tell  you  all  about  him  presently." 

"  What  long  black  hair  he  has,"  said  Alice. 


CHAPTER  HI. 

PLEASANT   MEItRINOTT   SEES   A   SHAWL. 

PLEASANT  MERRINOTT  remained  in  the  comparative  seclu- 
sion of  the  Hotel  du  Pont  for  two  whole  days  before  he 
decided  that  it  was  his  duty  to  call  on  the  banker  again. 
He  was  vaguely  conscious  that  he  had  not  made  the  proper 
impression.  Mr.  Harrelston  had  been  so  considerate,  so 
calm,  but,  on  the  whole,  so  impenetrable,  that  the  young 
Indian  felt  as  if  he  had  been  trying  to  split  open  a  glacier 
with  a  cambric  needle.  It  was  on  the  morning  of  the 
third  day  after  the  interview  that  he  determined  to  go  up 
to  the  Jungfraublick  Hotel  once  more. 

"  Another  conversation  can  do  neither  of  us  any  harm," 
he  thought ;  "  and  I  should  like  to  know  what  the  banker 
means  by  saying  that  he  can  state  the  case  in  another 
manner." 

Just  as  he  was  climbing  the  little  hill  on  which  the 
hotel  stands,  a  carriage,  drawn  by  two  spirited  black 
horses,  came  rolling  rapidly  toward  him.  lie  was  a  trifle 
surprised'  when  he  saw  Mr.  Harrelston  beckoning  to  him 
from  this  carriage,  and  saying,  in  his  cheery  voice  — 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Mcrrinott.  If  you  were  coming 
to  renew  our  conversation  on  the  subject  of  —  of  your 
mission,  jump  in  here  beside  me,  and  during  an  hour's 
ride  we  can  learn  to  understand  each  other  better.  Will 
you  come?  " 

Pleasant  hesitated  a  moment.     But  the  coachman  had 

26 


PLEASANT  MERRIKOTT   SEES   A   SHAWL.          27 

reined  up  the  horses,  and  the  young  Indian  saw  a  rich 
shawl  lying  on  one  of  the  cushions.  This  delicate  fabric 
reminded  him  of  the  beautiful  girl  whom  he  had  seen 
standing  near  the  Japanese  bronze  in  Mr.  Harrelston's 
room,  and  while  he  was  thinking  of  her  he  found  that  he 
had  put  his  foot  on  the  carriage-step,  and  was  about  to 
spring  in. 

"You  are  right  good,"  he  managed  to  stammer  as  he 
sank  back  beside  the  banker.  "A  ride  among  these 
glorious  mountains  is  a  pleasure." 

"Yes.  The  horses  are  wild  for  exercise,  and  we  will 
drive  up  the  valley  toward  Lauterbrunnen,  and  then  re- 
turn to  the  hotel  for  lunch.  I  am  quite  alone  to-day,  and 
shall  be  glad  of  company  at  my  frugal  meal.  My  wife 
and  daughter  have  gone  with  some  friends  on  an  excursion 
to  Meiringen,  and  I  have  just  been  to  escort  them  to  the 
boat  on  the  Lake  of  Brienz.  You  know  the  Lake  of 
Brienz  —  how  placidly  beautiful  it  is." 

"  It  is  charming,"  said  Pleasant.  His  gaze  fell  on  the 
shawl  once  more,  and  a  shadow  flitted  over  his  face.  "And 
the  valley  of  Meiringen  is  a  paradise  on  earth.  But  there 
are  more  beautiful  paradises  than  -even  Meiringen  in  the 
Indian  Nation,  sir !  Great  valleys  hemmed  in  on  either 
side  by  mountains  green  to  their  very  tops,  and  watered 
by  streams  more  lovely,  sir,  than  any  that  I  have  seen  in 
Switzerland.  And  such  luxuriance  of  vegetation  and  such 
game  !  Why,  sir,  when  I  was  a  child  I  rarely  went  into 
the  woods  without  starting  a  deer.  And  what  is  there  in 
the  world  more  beautiful  than  a  deer  when  he  springs 
out  of  his  cover  and  stands  palpitating  with  fear  and 
wounded  dignity,  staring  at  an  intruder?  What  have 
they  done  with  all  the  game  in  Switzerland?  The 
country  should  be  full  of  it." 

The  banker  eyed  Pleasant  closely.  The  young  man's 
enthusiasm  was  not  assumed  ;  it  was  natural  and  pleasing. 


28  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

Mr.  Harrelston  felt  that  he  liked  the  Indian  when  he  was 
in  this  mood. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Merrinott,"  he  said,  "  for  a  pessimist,  it 
strikes  me  that  you  are  gifted  with  a  genuine  love  of 
nature.  I  know  that  your  Territory  is  lovely  ;  every  one 
who  has  visited  it  says  so.  There  was  a  gentleman  at  my 
table  the  other  day,  after  you  left,  who  has  seen  much  of 
the  section  —  a  Mr.  Cliff  — —  " 

"Mr.  Cliff?  Colonel  Cliff!"  said  the  young  man, 
contracting  his  thin  lips  and  dilating  his  eyes  so  that  the 
face  was  for  a  moment  quite  savage  in  expression. 

"  Yes  ;  formerly  of  the  army.  I  think  he  said  that  he 
had  met  —  seen  you  —  at  —  Fort  Gibson." 

' '  Ah  !  And  I  reckon  he  told  you  all  the  details  of  the 
circumstance  —  a  personal  difficulty  —  in  which  I  was  en- 
gaged in  that  vicinity,  some  time  ago.  Oh!  you  need 
have  no  hesitation  in  telling  me." 

"  Mr.  Cliff  merely  mentioned,  I  believe,  that  there  was 
an  encounter —  a  quarrel  —  in  which  you  were  interested, 
and  that  the  troops  were  compelled  to  interfere." 

"  Compelled,  sir?  They  had  no  business  to  interfere. 
That  was  the  ground  I  took,  and  that  was  what  brought 
me  into  conflict  with  Colonel  Cliff.  Now,  sir,  let  me  tell 
you  in  a  few  words  what  happened.  There's  an  old  feud 
between  two  powerful  families  in  the  Cherokee  Nation.  It 
sprang  up  more  than  half  a  century  ago,  before  our  people 
were  pushed  out  of  their  homes  in  the  south,  and  driven 
west  of  the  Mississippi  river.  It  is  a  feud,  sir,  that  began 
in  blood  and  will  finish  in  blood.  It  began  in  injustice  to 
my  family,  and  in  treachery  to  our  nation.  From  time  to 
time  it  breaks  out  into  actual  fighting,  and  lives  are  lost; 
and  it  will  never  be  at  an  end  until  the  wretched  family 
that  begun  it  has  been  exterminated." 

"Exterminated,  Mr.  Merrinott!  That  is  hardly  a 
civili/A-d  manner  of  settling  a  difficulty  !  " 


PLEASANT   MERRINOTT   SEES   A   SHAWL.          29 

"  Well,  sir,  I  have  not  intimated  that  it  is  civilized. 
You  forget,"  he  added,  with  a  certain  bitterness  in  his  tone, 
"  that  I  am  an  Indian,  and  that  the  people  of  whom  I  am 
talking  are  Indians.  I  don't  know  that  we  have  made  up 
our  minds  to  accept  civilization  as  an  unmixed  blessing 
quite  yet.  We  believe  in  justice,  and  our  experience  is 
that  under  civilization  and  law  we  don't  always  get  justice." 

'•  Well,  really,  Mr.  Merrinott,  I  don't  suppose  you  are 
prepared  to  say  that  law  is  not  usually  based  on  justice  ! 
And,  right  here,  allow  me,  if  you  please,  to  ask  one  or  two 
questions.  AVhat  was  the  origin  of  the  feud  of  which  you 
speak  ?  Was  it  not  a  difference  of  opinion  as  to  the  con- 
duct of  your  nation  ?  Was  not  the  party  to  which  you  and 
yours  are  so  bitterly  opposed  somewhat  in  favour  of  taking 
down  the  barriers  which  separate  you  from  the  rest  of  the 
world,  and  of  dividing  in  severalty  among  the  members  of 
the  various  tribes  the  lands  which  are  now  held  in  com- 
mon ?  Was  there  not  a  decided  desire  manifested  by  this 
family  with  which  you  and  yours  are  at  war  —  and  by  a 
good  many  people  who  believed  as  that  family  did  —  to 
see  the  Indians  settle  down  into  citizens  of  the  American 
nation,  and  renounce  their  dream  of  maintaining  an  em- 
pire within  an  empire?  " 

The  coachman  was  driving  rapidly  through  the  woods 
on  the  brow  of  the  hill  near  the  ruins  of  Unspunnen.  The 
keen  odours  of  leaf  and  twig,  of  mosses  and  flowers,  which 
came  from  the  aisles  of  the  forest,  delighted  the  young 
Indian.  lie  was  so  absorbed  in  his  enjoyment  of  them 
that  he  did  not  answer  the  banker  for  a  minute  or  two. 
Presently  he  said  — 

"  No  ;  that  was  not  the  origin  of  the  feud  —  not  exactly. 
It  began  in  a  struggle  for  power  at  a  time  when  both  parties 
were  agreed  as  to  maintaining  an  eternal  separation  from  the 
Americans,  who  were  driving  us  westward,  and  would  have 
been  glad  to  drive  us  into  the  Pacific  Ocean.  But  in  course 


30  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

of  time  the  faction  that  began  the  feud  added  treachery 
to  its  other  crimes,  and  it  began  to  talk  about  yielding 
before  the  march  of  progress  —  in  short,  merging  our 
country  with  the  United  States." 

' ;  Then  you  admit  that  there  is  a  class  of  people  in  your 
country  who  are  not  averse  to  joining  their  fortunes  to 
those  of  the  United  States  ?  But  you  did  not  tell  me  so 
the  other  day,  when  you  came  to  protest,  on  behalf  of 
your  friends,  against  any  participation  on  my  part  in  the 
sale  of  the  railroad  bonds,  etc." 

Pleasant  winced.  He  looked  up  sharply  at  the  banker, 
bit  his  lips,  and  then  looked  down  again. 

"  What  I  did  tell  you,  sir,  is  true,  however,"  he  said, 
at  last.  "All  the  efforts  of  a  miserable  minority  to  de- 
stroy our  nationality  will  not  succeed.  Our  lands  cannot 
be  taken  from  under  our  feet.  We  will  fight  first ;  we  will 
exterminate  traitors  in  our  own  midst ;  and  we  will-  resist 
any  and  all  endeavours  to  drive  us  into  becoming  part 
and  parcel  of  a  nation  that  has  persecuted  us." 

"  Very  good.  I  understand  your  protest  perfectly ;  but 
I  don't  consider  it  as  the  protest  of  a  whole  people.  Mr. 
Merrinott,  you  have  been  very  plain  with  me  ;  permit  me 
to  use  the  same  liberty  with  you.  By  the  way,  where  were 
you  educated?  You  will  excuse  me  for  remarking  that 
we  are  not  accustomed  to  expect  such  ample  evidences  of 
education  and  refinement  as  you  show  from  Indians  in  a 
frontier  territory." 

"  My  father,  sir,  was  a  decently  educated  man  of  mixed 
blood.  My  mother  was  a  Cherokee  woman,  of  pure  race, 
and  she,  too,  was  far  from  ignorant.  I  learned  a  right 
smart  bit  at  home,  and  was  sent  to  a  university  in  the 
Southern  States.  I  left  there  recently." 

'•  Then  you  believe  in  education,  if  not  in  all  the  other 
blessings  of  civilization?  You  have  a  sprinkling  of  the 
blood  of  the  white  race  in  your  veins,  and  you  have  been 


PLEASANT  MERKINOTT   SEES   A   SHAWL.          31 

educated  in  the  schools  of  that  race  ;  and  yet  you  rejoice 
in  the  fact  that  you  are  an  Indian  and  an  alien,  and  you 
wish  to  remain  such,  and  to  maintain  and  perpetuate  your 
independence,  although  your  nation  is  directly  in  the  track 
of  modern  progress,  and  —  and  —  a  dangerous  obstacle 
to  it!" 

"Yes,  sir;  yes,  sir!  The  process  of  fusion  has  gone 
far  enough.  It  is  time  to  stop  it.  We  want  to  stop  it. 
Or,  to  be  more  exact,  we  don't  wish  to  be  swallowed  up 
and  lost.  And  we  don't  propose  to  be  swallowed." 

Mr.  Harrelston  was  now  entirely  of  Mr.  Cliff's  opinion, 
that  Pleasant  Merrinott  was  "  an  enthusiast." 

"  I  will  not  enter  into  discussion  with  you  on  that  point, 
Mr.  Merrinott.  But  as  you  have  been  good  enough  to  come 
so  far  to  see  me,  I  wish  to  set  you  right  on  one  important 
point.  You  are  entirely  mistaken  in  supposing  that  the 
bonds  which  have  been  sold  in  Europe  in  connection  with 
these  railroads  running  through  your  nation's  territory  have 
anything  whatever  to  do  with  the  conditional  land  grants 
made  by  Congress.  In  other  words,  and  to  put  it  more 
clearly,  you  do  me  and  all  who  are  connected  with  me  gross 
injustice  in  supposing  that  we  would  lend  ourselves  in  any 
shape  or  fashion  to  a  scheme  for  selling  your  lands  with- 
out the  consent  of  the  majority  of  your  Nation,  —  from 
under  your  feet,  as  you  call  it.  Why,  sir,  that  is  not  the 
way  in  which  we  do  business  in  Europe  —  at  least,  nowhere 
except  at  Frankfort.  I  don't  know,"  he  continued,  crum- 
pling up  a  newspaper  which  he  had  been  holding  in  his 
hand,  and  brushing  his  forehead  with  it  as  if  to  drive 
away  the  flush  of  indignation  which  had  mounted  there, 
' '  how  I  should  have  received  such  an  imputation  on  my 
good  sense  and  honest}7  as  —  as  was  implied  in  that  part 
of  your  protest,  if  you  had  made  it  in  my  business  office. 
But  you  were  probably  impressed  with  the  fact  that  it  was 
true.  Allow  me  to  assure  you  that  it  was  utterly  false." 


32  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,"  said  Pleasant,  in 
a  voice  so  different  from  that  in  which  he  had  been  speak- 
ing that  the  banker  was  astonished  —  "  I  am  very  glad  to 
hear  you  say  so." 

He  leaned  back  in  his  seat  and  said  nothing  more  for 
some  minutes.  The  spirited  horses  trotted  briskly  through 
the  delicious  valley  of  Unspunnen,  past  the  ruined  tower 
overgrown  with  vines,  and,  after  an  inspiriting  ride 
among  the  green  fields  where  the  peasants  were  tossing 
the  fragrant  hay,  the  coachman  turned  towards  home. 
As  the  carriage  whirled  around,  a  mischievous  breeze 
caught  in  a  fold  of  the  shawl,  at  which  Pleasant  was 
again  steadfastly  gazing,  and  threw  it  to  the  banker's 
feet.  Both  the  banker  and  Pleasant  moved  hastily  to 
pick  it  up. 

"  How  in  the  world,"  said  Mr.  Harrelston,  "was  that 
shawl  left?  I  am  sure  Alice  wished  to  take  it.  And 
although  it  has  been  lying  here  before  me,  I  haven't  noticed 
it  until  this  minute.  Probably  Mr.  Cliff  was  charged  to 
take  care  of  it  and  forgot  it.  He's  a  careless " 

"Oh!  Mr.  Cliff  has  gone  with  your  family  to  Meirin- 
gen,  has  he?  "  inquired  Pleasant,  leaning  forward  as  if  to 
examine  the  texture  of  the  shawl. 

"  Yes.  And  the  mention  of  his  name  reminds  me  to 
ask  you  if  —  if  there  was  anyone  killed  at  the  time  of 
that  Fort  Gibson  affair?  " 

Pleasant' s  face  took  on  the  savage  scowl  which  the 
banker  had  already  noticed  there  once  or  twice  before. 

••Killed?"  he  said.  "Certainly.  M}'  brother  was 
killed  !  He  was  shot  dead,  sir,  by  our  enemies  the  Blue- 
lots.  That  opened  the  feud  again.  AVc  took  the  road 
to  avenge  his  death,  and  we  would  have  done  it  if  the 
soldiers  had  not  interfered,  without  the  shadow  of  a  right 
to  do  so.  just  at  the  wrong  time  for  us." 

'•  Indeed!     Your  brother  was  a  victim,  then?     Colonel 


PLEASANT   MERRINOTT   SEES   A   SHAWL.          83 

Cliff  did  not  tell  me  this.  And  are  you  not  afraid  that 
you  will  lose  your  own  life  some  day  in  this  —  this  bar- 
barous warfare  ? ' ' 

"  Afraid,  sir?     I  don't  think  I  know  what  that  is." 

"  But  there  is  no  security  for  life,  and  no  enjoyment 
of  life,  in  a  community  where  such  things  are  possible. 
It  seems  to  me  that  you  are  furnishing  an  excellent  argu- 
ment against  your  scheme  for  keeping  the  United  States 
at  bay.  Certainly  one  of  the  advantages  of  union  with 
the  States  would  be  a  more  settled  society  —  more  law 
and  more  order." 

"But  you  forget  again,  sir,"  said  Pleasant,  in  a  tone 
which  the  banker  tried  in  vain  to  anatyze,  "  that  we  are 
Indians,  and  that  perhaps  we  do  not  want  law  or  order 
exactly  as  you  desire  and  require  them." 

"Perhaps  not.  But  I  will  tell  you  frankly,  Mr.  Mer- 
rinott,  that  what  you  have  said  leads  me  to  believe  that 
the  maintenance  of  your  nation  as  an  independent  power 
is  not  altogether  desirable  ;  that  if  it  were  merged  in  the 
United  States  you  would  all  be  better  off.  Why,  all  the 
land  grants,  conditional  and  others,  ever  made  in  connec- 
tion with  all  the  railroads  which  penetrate  your  Territory, 
form  only  an  insignificant  potato  patch  in  comparison  with, 
the  rest  of  your  magnificent  domain." 

"That  may  be,  sir;  but  we  shall  do  our  best  to  keep 
the  American  invader  out  of  that  domain  as  long  as  we 
can . ' ' 

"  I  think  we  may  now  dismiss  this  subject  until  after 
dejeuner,"  said  the  banker.  He  was  sure  that  he  liked 
Pleasant  better  than  on  the  day  of  the  protest.  He  was. 
even  inclined  to  honour  him  for  his  sturdy  independence-.. 
"  Let  us  talk  a  little  about  Europe,"  he  said.  "I  sup- 
pose you  intend  to  remain  long  enough  on  this  side  of  the 
ocean  to  see  two  or  three  countries.  Surely  you  will  not 
return  at  once  to  the  Indian  Nation? " 


34  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

"I  think,"  said  Pleasant,  "  that  I  will  walk  for  a  few 
days  longer  in  these  mountains,  and  then  that  I  will  go  to 
Paris  by  way  of  Geneva." 

"  A  very  wise  resolve."  Mr.  Harrelston  observed  that 
Pleasant's  eyes  were  fixed  on  Alice's  shawl,  and  for  some 
reason  which  he  did  not  try  to  explain  to  himself  he  was 
glad  that  the  }Toung  Indian  was  not  likely  to  prolong  his 
stay  in  Interlaken. 

The  carriage  drew  up  in  front  of  the  hotel,  and  a 
servant  came  to  help  Mr.  Harrelston  to  alight.  When 
the  banker  was  on  the  ground,  the  same  servant  offered 
his  support  to  Pleasant,  but  the  young  Cherokee  shot  by 
him  like  a  flash  of  light,  astonishing  him  so  that  he  stood 
looking  after  him  for  some  moments. 

Pleasant  and  the  hanker  talked  freely  on  many  subjects 
over  deje&ner,  but  carefully  avoided  an}-  further  reference 
to  the  railroad  topic.  The  Cherokee  was  reasonably 
familiar  with  current  literature,  had  a  tolerably  accurate 
idea  of  the  condition  of  European  politics,  and  was  much 
better  informed  on  American  history  than  are  most  young 
men  of  the  present  day.  It  was  clear,  too,  that  he  had 
read  a  good  bit  about  the  unfortunate  peoples  in  Europe  — 
the  Hungarians,  the  Poles,  the  Slavs  —  and  that  he  had 
formed  clear  judgments  concerning  them.  "  This  man  is 
not  only  an  enthusiast,"  thought  the  banker;  "he  is  a 
leader  ;  and  we  shall  hear  of  him  again." 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  Pleasant  returned  to 
-the  Hotel  du  Pont.  He  called  for  writing  materials,  and 
•wrote  steadily  until  six  o'clock,  addressing  his  longest 
letter  to  "  Cornelius  Blackfox,  Tahlequah,  Cherokee  Na- 
tion, Indian  Territory,  North  America."  Then  he  went 
to  his  room,  packed  his  knapsack  and  swung  it  over  his 
shoulder,  and,  returning  to  the  garden,  asked  for  his  bill. 

"  But  will  Monsieur  take  no  supper  before  he  leaves?  " 
stammered  the  waiter. 


PLEASANT  MERRINOTT   SEES   A   SHAWL.          35 

"  Monsieur  wants  no  supper.  How  far  is  it  to  Mei- 
ringen  ? ' ' 

"  To  Meiringen?  Surely  Monsieur  is  not  going  so  far 
to-night?" 

"  Bring  the  bill,  if  you  cannot  answer  the  question." 

"Meiringen?  It  is  five  hours' -ride  by  a  carriage. 
Does  Monsieur  think  the  diligence  starts  at  night?  " 

"Bring  the  bill." 

The  bill  was  brought  and  paid,  Pleasant  failing  to 
observe,  in  his  haste  to  be  gone,  that  the  "  addition  "  was 
wrong,  that  he  was  charged  with  two  omnibuses,  and  that 
the  day  of  the  month  on  which  this  extraordinary  docu- 
ment announced  that  he  had  arrived  was  the  day  on 
which  he  had  left  Bellaggio.  He  gave  the  waiter  a  silver 
coin,  pushed  open  the  garden  gate,  and  was  half-way 
across  the  bridge  over  the  roaring  Aar  before  the  servant 
had  said,  "A  lucky  journey  to  you,  sir;  and  may  you 
come  safely  back." 

Pleasant  began  to  reflect  after  he  was  well  out  of 
Interlaken  on  the  way  to  Brienz.  It  suddenly  occurred 
to  him  that  he  was  going  to  Meiringen  because  the  banker 
had  told  him  that  Miss  Alice  Harrelston  was  there.  But 
what  was  that  to  him  ?  And  might  she  not  be  miles  away 
from  Meiringen  before  he  could  arrive  there?  And  —  but 
he  stopped  thinking  on  that  subject  as  he  came  down  from 
the  high  hill,  near  the  border  of  the  lake  ;  and  fell  to 
meditating,  for  the  hundredth  time  since  he  had  left  the 
banker's  breakfast-table,  on  the  small  impression  which 
his  "  protest "  appeared  to  have  produced. 

It  seemed  to  him  now  not  only  as  if  he  had  been 
prodding  a  glacier  with  a  needle,  but  as  if  the  needle's 
point  had  been  suddenly  broken. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

CARO   AND   HER   MOTHER. 

IT  was  nearly  ten  o'clock  when  Pleasant  reached  the 
little  town  of  Brienz.  The  moon  had  arisen,  and  the  night 
was  charming.  The  young  Indian  had  begun  his  walk 
at  a  speed  which  astonished  the  belated  cowherds  and 
the  old  women  with  oaken  buckets  on  their  backs,  as  he 
strode  past  them  in  the  uncertain  twilight ;  but  as  the 
evening  deepened,  and  cool  scent  of  grasses  came  from 
the  fields,  and  the  moonlight  made  paths  of  silver  on  the 
lake,  he  relaxed  his  pace,  and  presently  he  began  to  loiter. 
The  silence,  the  majestic  outlines  of  the  great  mountains, 
the  young  winds  that  made  merry  among  the  weeds, 
delighted  him.  His  blood  ran  riotously  in  his  veins ;  he 
felt  the  inexpressible  joy  of  living.  Perhaps  he  would 
have  forgotten  that  he  was  going  to  Meiringen,  and  would 
have  lingered  by  the-. wayside  until  the  sunlight  came  to 
drive  the  shadows  out  of  the  ravines,  if  he  had  not  been 
startled  by  a  jingling  procession  of  tourists'  carriages 
coming  from  Lucerne,  the  coupes  filled  with  somewhat 
hilarious  young  gentlemen  from  America,  singing  a  negro 
melody,  and  the  interiors  crowded  with  ladies,  fretting 
because  the  long  journey  was  not  at  an  end. 

"  Is  there  no  means  of  getting  away  from  these  trav- 
ellers?" grumbled  Pleasant,  forgetting  that  he  himself 
was  a  traveller.     He  felt  a  selfish  desire  to  have  the  lake, 
36 


CAEO  AND   HER   MOTHER.  37 

the  valley,  the  guardian  ranges,  all  for  his  own  private 
delectation,  as  he  might  have  had  some  vast  and  lonely 
quarter  in  his  Indian  Territory.  These  good  people,  with 
their  songs  and  cigarette-smoke  and  fretfuluess,  annoyed 
him.  So  he  began  to  walk  rapidly  again,  and  went  on 
past  ruined  castles  or  churches  perched  high  on  rocks, 
through  hamlets  where  the  industrious  wood-carvers  were 
still  bent  over  their  benches,  coaxing  quaint  or  beautiful 
forms  out  of  the  stubborn  blocks,  and  tracing  delicate 
designs  by  the  glimmer  of  candles ;  under  a  frowning 
ledge  covered  with  mosses  and  clinging  plants,  among 
which  moonbeams  were  playing ;  past  a  cabaret,  where 
peasants  were  drinking  and  singing  boisterous  songs, 
which  terminated  in  "whoops"  not  unlike  those  that 
Pleasant  had  heard  in  the  wildest  sections  of  his  own 
"Nation;"  past  monster  houses  with  acres  of  sloping 
roofs,  and  with  dozens  of  tiny  windows,  and  with  pious 
mottoes  written  in  Gothic  text  under  their  eaves  ;  and  at 
last  came  to  Brienz,  and  sat  down  on  the  shore  of  the 
lake,  in  a  garden  almost  exactly  like  that  which  he  had  so 
lately  quitted  at  the  Hotel  du  Pont. 

A  little  maiden  brought  him  a  huge  mug  of  beer,  with 
a  heavy  leaden  lid  on  it,  and  vanished  without  asking 
him  a  question.  For  how  could  any  human  being,  even  a 
foreigner,  sit  down  in  a  public  place  in  Switzerland  with- 
out having  something  to  drink  beside  him  ?  Pleasant  was 
not  born  thirsty,  as  Germans  are  ;  so  he  ignored  the  cool- 
ing draught,  and  glanced  around  the  garden.  Under  the 
low  branches  of  the  trees  a  few  belated  villagers,  with 
their  wives  sitting  demurely  beside  them,  were  discussing 
crops  and  strangers  — two  never-failing  subjects  of  inter- 
est for  the  Swiss.  On  one  side  of  a  long  bowling  alley  a 
wooden  William  Tell  was  aiming  an  arrow  at  a  wooden 
apple  on  the  wooden  head  of  his  wooden  son  opposite. 
One  or  two  boatmen,  smoking  porcelain  pipes,  were  play- 


38  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

ing  lazily  at  bowls.  The  guardian  of  the  public  peace 
—  a  red-nosed  personage  in  a  blue  uniform,  with  a  sword 
buckled  at  his  side — passed  through  the  yard,  and  stared 
rather  boldly  at  Pleasant's  long  hair  and  swarthy  face. 
Pleasant  returned  the  stare  with  interest  and  a  scowl,  and 
the  guardian,  who  was  a  trifle  unsteady  on  his  pins  be- 
cause of  innumerous  potations  of  white  wine,  went  on  his 
winding  way.  Presently  a  fat  landlord,  in  a  braided 
jacket,  followed  by  a  lean  wife  in  &  costume  composed  of 
a  velvet  sack  with  silver  ornaments,  enormous  white-linen 
sleeves,  puffed  and  pinned  back  to  her  shoulders,  and  a 
short  petticoat  and  coarse  shoes,  popped  out  from  the  inn 
to  which  the  garden  belonged,  and  began  preparations  for 
closing  for  the  night.  Pleasant  called  the  Boniface,  paid 
for  his  beer,  set  aside  the  host's  entreaties  that  he  would 
sleep  at  the  inn,  and  went  down  to  the  border  of  the  lake 
to  enjoy  a  glimpse  of  the  moon-swept  expanse  before  leav- 
ing. A  small  boat,  neatly  covered  with  an  awning,  like 
those  in  use  upon  the  Italian  lakes,  was  approaching  a 
landing  close  to  the  wall  where  Pleasant  stood.  The 
burly  oarsmen  soon  brought  it  up  to  the  foot  of  a  flight 
of  stone  steps,  and  in  another  minute  two  female  figures, 
enveloped  in  cloaks,  and  followed  by  one  of  the  boatmen, 
carrying  valises  and  packages,  were  in  the  hotel  yard. 
The  man  set  down  the  luggage  and  stretched  forth  his 
huge  right  hand,  into  which  the  taller  of  the  women 
dropped  several  coins.  He  counted  them,  and  immediately 
burst  into  a  series  of  reproaches  in  wretched  German,  of 
which  Pleasant  did  not  understand  a  word,  but  the  accent 
of  which  was  unmistakable. 

"There!  Eight  francs  —  six  for  us,  and  two  for  the 
baggage  in  your  hand.  Can't  you  see  it?  Wai,  what 
are  you  scoklin'  about?  "  said  the  tall  woman. 

The  bold  Swiss  navigator  appeared  to  grow  angrier 
with  every  word  that  his  passenger  uttered.  Once  more 


CARO  AND   HER   MOTHER.  39 

he  indulged  in  a  series  of  reproaches,  in  which  guttural 
consonants  and  broad  vowels  seemed  rushing  wildly  hither 
and  yon  in  hopeless  confusion. 

"Wai,  sputter  away,"  remarked  the  tall  woman. 
"Did  you  ever  see  such  a  critter,  Caro?  He  said  six 
francs  for  passage  and  two  francs  for  baggage,  and  he's 
got  it,  and  now  he's  madder  'n  a  hornet.  I  wish  to  gra- 
cious 't  I  understood  him.  I  don't  like  to  have  a  man 
sass  me  unless  I  can  answer  back  !  " 

"Ma!" 

This  monosyllable  was  uttered  by  a  sweet,  rather 
plaintive  voice,  and  indicated  a  certain  amount  of  re- 
proof. Pleasant  understood  at  once  that  the  new-comers 
were  mother  and  daughter  and  Americans. 

"I  don't  care,"  said  the  "Ma."  "I  ain't  goin'  to 
let  any  of  these  Swiss  snub  me.  We've  done  as  we 
agreed,  haven't  we?  " 

"Well,  let  us  take  up  the  valises  and  go  along.  We 
never  shall  get  to  Meiringen  at  this  rate.  Let  the  man  stay 
there  and  scold.  He  won't  dare  to  do  anything  else." 

The  mother  accepted  the  daughter's  advice,  and 
stooped  to  take  up  the  parcels  ;  but  the  Swiss  navigator 
pounced  upon  them,  and  grew  more  voluble  and  unin- 
telligibly insolent  than  before. 

"  Let's  leave  him,  ma,"  said  the  daughter,  "  and  go  and 
get  a  policeman,  if  there  is  such  a  thing  in  this  sleepy  old 
place.  AVe  can  gain  nothing  by  quarrelling  with  him." 

"  No  !  I  won't  stand  it,"  said  the  older  woman.  "  If 
he  jabbers  at  me  any  more,  I'll  box  his  ears.  He  thinks 
jest  because  we're  alone  he  can  impose  on  us ;  but  he'll 
find  out!" 

"  Very  well,  ma  ;  go  on  and  make  yourself  ridiculous," 
said  the  plaintive  voice.  "  I  am  going  to  try  and  find  some 
one  who  speaks  French,  and  get  out  of  the  difficulty. 
Perhaps  I  can  get  the  landlord  of  the  hotel  over  there. ' ' 


40  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

The  girl  did  not  need  to  hunt  for  this  worthy,  for  he 
appeared  on  the  scene  at  that  moment,  and,  without 
saluting  the  ladies,  entered  into  an  animated  conversation 
with  the  angry  boatman.  Then  he  turned  to  the  elderly 
lady,  who  stood  towering  above  him  like  a  prophetess  of 
doom,  with  a  severely  deprecatory  expression  on  her  sharp 
features,  and,  addressing  her  in  English,  remarked  — 

"Dis  man  say  he  bring  you  from  de  Giessbach 
here." 

"  Wai,  that's  true  enough,  but  whatever  else  he  says  is 
sure  not  to  be  true,  I  know,  by  the  wa}r  he  says  it.  You 
tell  him  we've  paid  him  his  six  francs  for  passage  and 
two  francs  for  baggage,  and  that  now  if  he  doesn't  let 
us  alone  we'll  go  and  get  a  policeman." 

"Excoos  me,  lady,  de  man  say  he  tell  you  six  francs 
each  persown,  and  now  you  only  has  paid  him  for  one 
persown." 

"Oh,  of  course,  ma;  I  knew  there  was  a  mistake. 
We  misunderstood  him  ;  that  was  all.  Do  pay  him,  and 
let's  go.  What  is  the  use  of  fretting  about  six  francs 
more  or  less  ?  ' ' 

"  Caro,  if  this  man  hadn't  sassed  me  so  much,  I 
would  have  done  it ;  but  now  I  WON'T.  And  he  can 
make  jest  as  much  fuss  as  he  likes.  I  won't  be  trod  on  !  " 

The  elderly  lady  drew  her  cloak  tightly  around  her,  and 
looked  defiantly  at  the  boatman,  who  was  rather  sullenly 
awaiting  the  result  of  the  explanation. 

"  He  say  it  is  de  tariff,  six  francs  each  persown.  I 
thecnk  you  will  have  to  pay  it,"  observed  Boniface. 

This  was  evidently  the  daughter's  opinion  also,  for  she 
took  out  a  little  morocco  portemonnaie,  held  it  up  so  that 
the  moonlight  would  fall  on  it,  brought  out  three  two- 
franc  pieces,  and  handed  them  to  the  boatman,  with  the 
remark,  '•  Now  go  and  finish  your  scolding  somewhere 
else."  The  man  went  away  grumbling,  without  offering 


CAEO   AND   HER   MOTHER.  41 

thanks,  while  the  mother  protested  vigorously,  and  called 
her  daughter  "  a  headstrong  girl." 

"  Never  mind,  ma!  time  is  more  precious  than  money 
just  now.  I  am  afraid  we  shall  arrive  at  Meiringen  at  a 
scandalously  late  hour  if  we  don't  go  on  at  once.  Can 
you  get  us  a  carriage  for  Meiringen?"  she  concluded, 
addressing  the  landlord. 

"To  Meiringen,  lady?  Yes,  plenty  carriages  in  de 
morning,  but  not  now.  You  must  stay  here  to-night. 
Will  you  have  one  room  or  two  rooms?"  He  whistled, 
and  a  porter  came  running  forward  and  began  to  gather 
up  the  luggage. 

"But  we  don't  wish  to  stay  here  to-night.  We  wish 
to  go  to  Meiringen.  It  is  only  a  little  way  ;  and  we  have- 
been  told  that  carriages  can  be  had  at  almost  any  hour  of 
the  night." 

"  Oh,  I  assure  —  you  —  dat  it  is  quite  impossible.  Dis 
way,  if  you  please."  And  he  grasped  a  valise  and  set 
out  ponderously  for  the  tavern  door. 

But  suddenly  he  found  his  progress  arrested  by  a  tall 
man,  with  bronzed  face  and  flowing  hair,  who  looked 
down  at  him  sternly,  and  said  — 

"How  do  you  know  it  is  impossible?  You  haven't 
even  taken  the  trouble  to  inquire." 

"My!"  said  the  elderly  lady,  in  a  low  voice,  to  her 
daughter,  "  that's  an  American,  I  know,  by  his  voice." 

"  Do  be  quiet,  ma !  "  said  the  daughter,  in  a  whisper. 

"  Are  you  right  sure  that  no  carriages  for  Meiringen 
are  to  be  had?"  said  Pleasant. 

The  landlord  was  greatly  annoyed  at  this  interference. 
His  rage  arose  as  speedily  as  the  waves  rise  on  a  Swiss 
lake  in  a  storm.  And  with  his  rage  came  a  capacity  to 
speak  English  which  he  had  not  yet  displayed. 

"Very  well,"  he  said,  disdaining  to  answer  the  ques- 
tion about  carriages.  "If  you  are  in  charge  of  dese 


42  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

ladies,  perhaps  you  will  be  good  enough  to  look  deir 
luggage  after  yourself." 

He  dropped  the  valise  at  Pleasant's  feet;  his  porter 
also  threw  down  his  load,  and  the  gentle  twain  marched 
off  to  the  tavern  without  once  looking  behind  them. 

Pleasant  glared  after  them,  but  held  his  peace.  He 
then  took  off  his  hat  to  the  elderly  lady,  and  said  — 

"Madam,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  offer  my  services,  I 
think  I  can  find  a  carriage  for  Meiringen." 

"  Oh,  you're  very  kind,  but  we  shall  be  sorry  to  trouble 
you.  You  are" an  American,  aren't  you?  " 

"  I  am  from  America." 

"  Are  you  going  our  way  ?  " 

' '  Ma  !  how  indiscreet ! ' '  murmured  the  daughter. 

"  Yes,  I  am  going  to  Meiringen." 

"Why  —  certainly  —  we  might  take  a  carriage.  You 
think  there  is  one  to  be  had,  don't  you? " 

Pleasant  was  quite  sure  that  he  heard  the  daughter 
whisper  •'  Mother !  "  in  an  appealing  manner. 

He  picked  up  the  valises  and  packages  without  further 
introduction.  "I  reckon  this  landlord  won't  want  us  in 
his  garden  any  longer,"  he  said.  "If  you  will  allow  me 
to  suggest  that  you  follow  me  to  another  tavern  I  think 
we  can  soon  find  a  carriage." 

.  "  Thank  you  very  much.  I  begin  to  believe  that  wo- 
men can't  travel  alone  in  Europe  as  they  do  in  America. 
I  tell  my  daughter  I  think  they  try  to  impose  on  us  be- 
cause we  arc  women.  I  should  like  to  ketch  any  one 
doing  that  at  home  when  I  was  around !  " 

The  ladies  followed  Pleasant  out  of  the  garden  and  to 
another  inn,  where,  in  less  than  ten  minutes,  a  deep- 
voiced  Jehu  was  summoned  into  their  presence.  Yes, 
be  had  a  zweispanner,  a  two-horse  carriage,  at  the  dis- 
position of  the  ladies.  He  was  anxious  to  return  to  Mei- 
riugcu  that  uight,  as  he  expected  to  get  a  party  for  Lucerne 


.CARO   AND   HER   MOTHER.  43 

in  the  morning.  So  a  bargain  was  made,  happily  free 
from  misunderstandings,  despite  the  defective  French  used 
by  Jehu  on  the  one  part  and  by  the  young  lady  on  the 
other  part,  and  mother  and  daughter  were  soon  seated  hi 
the  vehicle,  with  their  luggage  stowed  in  the  box  behind. 

"We  must  not  go  without  thanking  the  gentleman, 
mother,"  said  the  daughter. 

"  Why,  he's  going  with  us,  of  course." 

The  daughter's  mouth  opened  as  if  she  intended  to  say 
"  Ma !  "  once  more,  but  was  quite  too  astonished  to  do  so. 
At  last,  after  settling  herself  very  far  back  in  her  corner, 
and  drawing  her  cloak  around  her,  she  observed  — 

"You  never  arc  the  same  woman  two  days  in  succession. 
You  wouldn't  let  Count  Ferocky  offer  us  his  carriage,  and 
accompany  us  from  his  mother's  house  in  Geneva  to  the 
Hotel  de  la  Paix,  after  I  had  sung  at  the  old  lady's  party, 
and  yet  you  will  make  the  acquaintance  of  a  wild- looking 
man  with  long  hair,  in  a  mountain  village,  in  the  middle  of 
the  night,  and  ride  off  along  a  lonesome  road  to  Meiringen 
with  him.  I  think  it's  inconsistent,  that's  all !  " 

The  old  lady's  garments  rustled.  "You  do,  do  you? 
Wai,  now,  Caro,  let  me  tell  you  that  your  mother  knows 
a  heap  more'n  you  do.  This  gentleman  is  an  American, 
and  that  is  the  same  thing  as  saying  that  there  isn't  the 
least  impropriety  in  driving  with  him  from  here  to  Meirin- 
gen. Count  Ferocky  is  an  I-talian  ;  and  that  is  as  much 

as  to  say Wai,  at  any  rate,  I  don't  propose  to  have 

the  world  say  that  he's  payin'  his  attentions  to  any 
daughter  of  mine."  Then,  with  a  sudden  tenderness  in 
her  voice,  "  Do  wrap  your  throat  up,  Caro.  Jest  think 
how  dreadful  it  would  be  if  you  should  ketch  another  cold  ! 
Are  you  warm  enough?  Sh — h  !  Here  he  comes." 

"And  now,  ladies,"  said  Pleasant,  appearing  at  the 
side  of  the  carriage,  and  making  a  graceful  bow,  "  I  wish 
you  a  pleasant  drive.  Good  evening." 


44  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

"Oh  — really,  Mr. " 

"Merrinott,  ma'am." 

"  —  Merrinott,  we  thought  you  were  going  to  Meirin- 
gen." 

"  Quite  true,  ma'am ;  but  I  intend  to  walk,  the  air  and 
the  moonlight  are  so  fine." 

"To  walk!  Why,  you  won't  get  there  before  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  if  it  is  as  far  as  the  driver  says  'tis. 
There's  plenty  of  room  in  our  carriage,  Mr.  —  Merrinott, 
if  you  haven't  fully  decided  to  walk,"  said  the  old  lady. 

"Very  well,  madam,  if  you  will  not  consider  it  an 
intrusion." 

"Certainly  not,"  murmured  Miss  Caro,  who  felt  that 
it  was  her  turn  to  say  something. 

Pleasant  took  a  seat  facing  the  ladies,  unstrapped  his 
knapsack  from  his  shapely  shoulders,  and  said  — 

"  It  will  be  only  an  hour's  drive  with  these  good  horses." 

"How  warm  the  air  is!"  said  the  mother.  "But, 
Caro,  you'll  certainly  ketch  your  death  o'  cold  if  you  don't 
wrap  up  better.  My  daughter's  terrible  imprudent,  Mr. 
Merrinott.  I  don't  know  what  she  would  do  if  she  hadn't 
a  mother  to  take  care  of  her." 

Pleasant  hardly  knew  what  to  say ;  but,  after  some 
reflection,  he  remarked  that  the  mountain  air  was  not  very 
dangerous. 

"No;  but  you  see  my  daughter's  studyin'  for  the 
operatic  stage,  and  her  voice  has  ben  a  good  deal  over- 
worked, and  she  ketches  cold  easy.  It  sort  o'  discourages 
her  morally  when  her  voice  is  troubled.  Don't  it,  Caro?" 

The  girl  looked  up  quickly  at  her  mother,  with  a  shade 
of  annoyance  on  her  features.  Pleasant  thought  that  he 
could  interpret  the  look  as  an  appeal  to  be  less  confidential 
to  the  stranger.  But  the  old  lady  went  on  — 

"  Have  you  ben  over  long,  Mr.  Merrinott?  " 

"  Only  a  few  weeks,  madam." 


CABO  AND   HER   MOTHER.  45 

"  You're  a  fortunate  man,  I  think.  I  know  it'll  be  the 
proudest  day  of  my  life  when  I  set  foot  on  the  ship  that's 
to  carry  me  back.  I  feel  kind  o'  transplanted — out  o'  sorts 
—  over  here.  I  tellCaro  Ulinoy  is  good  enough  for  me." 

Pleasant  laughed.  It  pleased  him  to  hear  the  good 
woman  talk.  "  I  reckon  you're  right,  madam,"  he  said. 
"  It's  only  natural  that  we  should  like  our  own  country 
best." 

"Are  you  from  our  part  of  America,  Mr.  Merrinott? 
Are  you  from  the  West?  " 

"  I  am  from  the  Indian  Territory,  ma'am." 

"I  want  to  know.  Are  you  —  are  you  Injun?"  she 
added,  with  a  momentary  tinge  of  distrust  in  her  voice. 

"  Well,  yes  ;  I  suppose  I  am." 

"  Let  me  see,"  continued  the  old  lady,  in  reflective  vein. 
"  John  Merlin,  my  husband's  brother —  our  name's  Mer- 
lin, as  perhaps  I  might  have  told  you  before  —  John  Mer- 
lin went  out  from  Illinoy  nigh  on  to  twenty  years  ago ; 
and  I  believe  he  settled  in  the  Indian  Territory  for  a  while, 
as  a  kind  of  Government  agent  —  down  among  the  Choc- 
taws,  I  think  'twas.  Mebbe  you've  heard  of  him?  " 

"  No  ;  I  reckon  not.  I  am  a  Cherokee,  and  I  happen 
never  to  have  been  among  the  Choctaws." 

Here  Pleasant  became  conscious  that  the  daughter  was 
scrutinizing  him  rather  sharply  with  a  pair  of  deep  blue 
eyes.  While  Mrs.  Merlin  continued  an  account  of  her 
relative  who  had  migrated  to  the  Choctaws,  Pleasant  had 
time  to  observe  that  Miss  Caro  Merlin  had  a  thin,  sensitive 
face,  full  of  a  certain  mournful  beauty  which  was  in 
striking  contrast  to  the  mother's  prosaic  and  plain  coun- 
tenance. Miss  Merlin's  broad  brow  and  frank  blue  eyes, 
her  well-balanced  chin  and  firm  lips,  gave  the  impression 
that  she  was  a  person  of  character.  Her  chestnut  hair 
was  not  tortured  into  artificial  curls,  nor  twisted  into  un- 
sightly frizzled  confusion,  but  was  combed  smoothly  down 


46  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

in  the  sweet  and  feminine  fashion  in  which  our  mothers 
wore  their  tresses  when  they  were  young.  This  he  noticed 
as  she  removed  her  bonnet  and  drew  over  her  head  a 
warm  opera  wrap,  the  ends  of  which  she  carefully  wound 
about  her  throat. 

"  Do  you  find  it  cold?  "  he  said.  "  The  carriage  top 
can  be  raised  on  each  side,  and  we  can  close  the  windows, 
if  you  wish." 

"Oh  no!"  answered  the  girl.  "Thank  you,  but  I 
think  this  moonlight  is  too  lovely  to  part  with  for  the  sake 
of  a  little  warmth.  Isn*t  it  heavenly  out  there?  "  And 
she  waved  her  hand  toward  the  valley  beyond  them. 

In  truth,  it  was  a  beautiful  spectacle.  The  Aar,  rushing 
merrily  along  in  its  narrow  stone-bordered  channel,  shone 
in  the  moonlight  like  a  silver  band.  The  long  grasses  and 
the  grain  swayed  with  rhythmic  voluptuousness  under  the 
caresses  of  the  breezes.  On  the  right  the  mighty,  massive 
ledges  affronted  the  sky,  and  cataracts,  born  of  the  far- 
away glaciers,  leaped  and  frolicked  and  rioted  and  sang  as 
they  sprang  recklessly  down  into  the  shadows  below. 
Here  a  dizzy  flood  seemed  to  pause,  shuddering,  before  it 
took  its  plunge ;  there  a  vast  veil  of  spray  hung  from 
moss-grown  rocks.  On  the  left  the  Brunig  rose  abruptly ; 
and  miles  distant,  in  front,  were  peaks  tipped  with  eternal 
snow,  upon  which  the  moon  now  and  then  cast  delicate  tints 
of  rose.  Beneath  a  clump  of  trees  the  friendly  lights  of 
a  cottage  gleamed  ;  from  a  field  came  the  plaintive  accents 
of  a  shepherd's  song  ;  and  on  the  air  lingered  a  delicate 
odour  as  of  aromatic  shrubs  and  freshly-plucked  flowers. 

"  Look,  mother  !  the  mountains  !  the  mountains  !  How 
white  and  ghostly  they  are  !  "  cried  Miss  Caro,  pointing 
to  the  massive  and  remote  group. 

"  Why,  daughter,  you're  as  enthusiastic  about  nature 
as  Alice  Ilarrelston.  She  can't  set  still  when  she's  talking 
about  it.  It's  a  sight  to  see  her  fidget  over  a  mess  of 


CARD   AND   HER  MOTHEE.  47 

flowers.  She's  got  all  the  French  ways  of  talkin'  with 
her  hands  and  eyes  and  shoulders — every  nerve  a- 
dancin'." 

"  Well,  mother,  do  you  think  there's  any  harm  in  that? 
You  certainly  seem  to  take  great  interest  in  my  lessons  in 
acting,  and  you're  always  urging  me  to  make  gestures." 

u  Law,  child,  that's  for  opera,  of  course.  You  don't 
ne.ed  such  things  in  real  life.  Don't  you  think  so,  Mr. 
Merrinott?" 

Mr.  Merrinott  was  thinking  of  something  else.  These 
people  knew  the  Ilarrelstons  ;  they  had  spoken  of  the 
daughter ;  perhaps  they  were  going  to  meet  her  now. 

Mrs.  Merlin  did  not  seem  to  notice  his  inattention.  She 
felt  the  necessity  of  talking,  and  so  she  continued,  in  a 
loud,  sharp  voice,  which  now  and  then  made  Miss  Caro 
raise  her  e}-es  in  appealing  fashion.  From  her  rapid 
remarks  Pleasant  soon  gathered  that  she  and  her  daughter 
were  residing  in  Paris,  where  the  young  lady  was  pur- 
suing her  musical  studies  with  much  energy ;  that  they 
were  now  making  a  brief  tour  in  the  mountains  in  order 
that  the  girl,  who  "  was  only  eighteen,(  and  delicate  of  her 
age,"  might  get  some  new  strength  for  her  winter  cam- 
paign ;  and  that  Mrs.  Merlin  held  the  French  and  Italians 
in  unmitigated  horror,  and  was  anxious  to  finish  with 
Europe  and  return  to  America  as  speedily  as  possible. 

"The  only  place  I've  felt  to  home  in  sence  I  joined 
Caro  over  here,"  she  said,  "  was  up  there  to  the  Giessbach. 
Haven't  you  ben  there?  It's  a  beautiful  place,  high  on 
the  mountain,  and  the  waterfall  plashin'  and  cascadin'  all 
the  time.  They  light  it  up  at  night,  and  there's  thousands 
of  folks  come  to  see  it.  But  seems  to  me  I  like  nature 
best  without  frills.  Wai,  there's  one  good  thing  ;  lots  of 
Americans  come  there,  and  there's  somebody  to  talk  to. 
We  didn't  want  to  come  away  a  bit,  at  least  I  didn't ;  but 
we  had  a  pressin'  invitation  from  Miss  Harrelston,  a 


48  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

friend  of  ours  from  Paris,  to  join  her  in  Meiringen,  and  to 
go  to  the  —  to  the ' ' 

"  Grimsel,  mother,"  said  Miss  Caro. 

"  To  the  Grimsel  with  her  and  some  friends  to-morrow, 
and  so  we  set  out  to  come.  But  we  couldn't  get  ready 
for  the  afternoon  boat,  and  so  we  took  a  skiff  across  the 
lake,  as  you  know.  I  don't  know  what  we  should  'a  done 
if  it  hadn't  ben  for  you." 

Pleasant  entreated  her  to  ignore  the  obligation,  and 
was  in  hopes  that  she  would  say  something  more  about 
Alice  Harrelston.  But  he  was  disappointed,  for  the  rest 
of  the  way  to  Meiringen  she  talked  of  nothing  but  the 
inferiority  of  Swiss  cooking  and  agriculture  as  compared 
with  those  of  America.  As  for  Miss  Caro,  she  seemed 
contented  with  the  beauty  of  the  scenery. 

It  was  very  late  when  the  driver  cracked  his  whip  at 
the  door  of  the  Hotel  Reicbenbach  —  a  pretty  hostelry 
outside  the  town  —  whither  Miss  Caro  had  told  him  to 
take  them.  But  lights  gleamed  from  the  balcony,  and  the 
sound  of  music  was  heard. 

"  Who  is  playing  Chopin,  I  wonder,  at  this  time  of 
night?  "  said  Miss  Caro. 

"I  suppose  Alice  retired  hours  ago,"  remarked  the 
mother. 

Then  the  landlord,  and  three  porters,  and  a  head- 
waiter,  and  a  guide,  came  running  out  of  the  hall,  to  greet 
the  arrivals,  and  Pleasant  bade  his  new  acquaintances 
good  night,  after  having  insisted  upon  paying  one-half  of 
the  carriage  hire. 

"  Wai,  I  must  say  that  is  the  most  civilized  Injun  I 
ever  see,"  said  the  mother,  as  she  followed  her  daughter 
up  the  stairs  of  the  hotel. 


CHAPTER  V. 

STANISLAS. 

PLEASANT  sat  down  in  the  little  room  into  which  he  had 
been  ushered  by  a  sleepy  serving-maid,  and  began  to 
wonder  what  he  would  do  next.  For  the  first  time  in  his 
life  he  felt  as  if  he  were  not  his  own  master ;  as  if  some 
tyrannical  fate  pushed  him  on,  compelled  him,  and  made 
him  its  puppet.  He  did  not  feel  the  least  inclination  for 
sleep,  and  he  would  have  been  glad  had  the  fate  sent  him 
out  to  wander  in  the  moonlit  valley.  While  he  was  mus- 
ing, the  music  in  the  parlour  below  ceased ;  there  was  a 
merry  hum  of  voices  ;  and  a  few  moments  afterwards  he 
heard  a  deferential  knock  at  his  door. 

It  was  the  landlord,  smiling,  with  a  lighted  candle  in 
his  hand. 

"  Monsieur  will  pardon  me,"  he  said  in  English,  "  but 
was  not  Monsieur  here  the  other  day  ? ' ' 

Monsieur  had,  in  fact,  passed  through  Meiringen,  stop- 
ping at  the  Rcichenbach  Hotel,  and  had  found  it  a  com- 
fortable and  agreeable  inn. 

The  landlord  made  a  low  bow.  "  Then  Monsieur  will 
pardon  the  liberty  that  I  take  in  inviting  him  to  come 
down  and  hear  the  concert  in  the  parlour.  All  the  ladies 
and  gentlemen  are  listening ;  some  of  the  people  who  had 
gone  to  bed  have  got  up  again.  Monsieur  may  not  have 

49 


50  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

another  such  chance  for  years.  If  Monsieur  will  ex- 
cuse  " 

Pleasant  smiled.  "  Why,  landlord,  i8  the  music  so 
wonderful?  Who  is  the  musician?  " 

"It  is  the  great  Stanislas.  He  arrived  this  evening. 
He  has  been  walking  in  the  mountains  for  his  health. 
The  most  extraordinary  pianist  of  his  time.  The  young 
English  ladies  staying  in  the  house  are  quite  wild  with 
delight.  Monsieur  will  perhaps  come  down.  The  ladies 
who  came  with  Monsieur  are  acquainted  with  Stanislas. 
It  is,  I  am  sure,  an  honour  for  my  hotel.  Is  Monsieur 
fond  of  music?  " 

And  the  great  Boniface  would  have  gone  on  practising 
English  until  the  crack  of  doom,  if  Pleasant  had  not  said, 
"  Thank  you  ;  I  will  come  in  a  few  moments." 

"Monsieur  is  very  kind." 

The  landlord  disappeared,  and  the  young  Indian,  after 
a  hasty  toilet,  went  down  stairs  to  see  what  this  mid- 
night concert  was  like.  The  tourists  seated  in  the  hall, 
at  the  entrance  of  the  dining-room,  and  about  the  door 
of  the  diminutive  apartment  dignified  with  the  appella- 
tion of  "  parlour,"  stared  at  the  bronzed  complexion  and 
long  black  hair  of  the  new-comer  so  boldly  that  they 
made  him  rather  uncomfortable.  He  was  fortunate 
enough  to  find  a  place  close  to  the  parlour  entrance,  and 
as  he  sat  down  a  sharp  voice  said  in  his  ear  — 

"  I  knew  we  warn't  pushing  through  to  Meiringen  so 
fast  for  nothin',  Mr.  Mcrrinott.  Jest  think  of  our  findin' 
Stanislas  here  !  Ain't  it  splendid  !  Of  course  you  know 
who  he  is  —  the  givatest  pianist !  There's  Caro  talkin' 
to  him  now.  My  gracious  !  I  hope  them  young  English- 
men will  gi-t  done  starin'  at  her  by-and-by.  We've  had 
Stanislas  at  our  house  in  Paris  ;  he  plays  for  my  daughter 
when  he  won't  play  for  anybody  else.  I  believe  he'd  cut 
his  head  right  off  to  please  Caro.  There,  Caro's  going 


STANISLAS.  51 

back  to  set  down  by  Miss  Harrelston  —  and  now  Stanislas 
is  goin'  to  play  again.  If  he  gets  excited,  he  may  keep 
us  here  till  daylight." 

Mrs.  Merlin  stopped  short,  for  Pleasant  had  turned  so 
quickly  round  upon  her  at  the  mention  of  Miss  Harrelston's 
name  that  she  was  a  little  frightened  ;  but  after  a  moment's 
reflection  she  concluded  that  such  sudden  movements  must 
be  part  of  Indian  manners,  and  she  began  again. 

"  No ;  he's  fidgetin'  with  the  piano  keys  now.  And 
such  a  piano  !  I  don't  see  how  he  can  git  any  music  at 
all  out  of  it.  I  hope  he  won't  take  it  into  his  head  to 
have  Caro  sing.  The  poor  girl  is  tired  to  death,  and 
that  would  jest  about  finish  her.  That's  Miss  Harrelston 
settin'  there  in  the  corner  with  the  knit  white  shawl  on, 
and  her  mother's  next  to  her.  Real  nice  folks,  they  are. 
Never  met  them,  did  you?  " 

"  I  know  Mr.  Harrelston,  slightly,"  said  Pleasant. 

"  I  want  to  know  !  Wai,  you  ought  to  know  the  fam- 
ily ;  they're  the  salt  of  the  earth.  I  wonder  who  they've 
got  with  'em." 

At  this  moment  the  great  Stanislas  began  to  play 
again,  and  every  voice  was  hushed.  He  played  a  nocturne 
so  weird  and  quaint  and  full  of  plaintive  refrains  that  it 
was  as  if  he  were  interpreting  the  moonlight,  or  the  wav- 
ing of  the  grasses  before  the  wind,  or  the  murmurs  of  the 
pine  trees  in  the  forests  on  the  mountain  side.  Under  the 
subtle  and  inspiring  touch  of  his  white  fingers  the  keys 
sang  the  burden  of  the  night.  Was  it  an  improvisation, 
or  was  it  some  master's  composition  which  this  strange 
man  had  committed  to  memory  ?  Pleasant  did  not  know, 
nor  did  he  care.  The  music  exercised  an  electrical  influ- 
ence upon  him,  yet  he  was  scarcely  conscious  that  he 
heard  it  as  he  gazed  into  the  parlour.  He  saw  Alice 
Harrelston  seated  on  a  low  chair,  with  Miss  Caro  at  one 
side  of  her  on  a  cushion.  On  the  other  side,  bolt  upright, 


52  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

and  looking  as  if  he  considered  the  music  an  intolerable 
bore,  stood  Colonel  Cliff.  Pleasant  fixed  his  sharp  eyes 
for  an  instant  on  that  personage,  and  then  tossed  back 
his  long  black  hair  with  an  impatient  gesture,  as  though 
he  were  driving  away  an  unpleasant  memory.  He  was 
presently  a  trifle  confused  to  observe  that  Miss  Caro  was 
whispering  to  Miss  Harrelston,  concerning  him,  evidently, 
for  they  both  glanced  at  him,  and  then  returned  to  the 
sweet  contemplations  prompted  by  the  music.  A  few 
English  girls  in  travelling  dresses,  seated  on  a  long  sofa, 
listened  ecstatically  to  Herr  Stanislas ;  and  one  or  two 
elderly  gentlemen,  in  knickerbockers  and  holding  in  their 
hands  white  hats  with  blue  veils  on  them,  lent  their  ears 
with  critical  air. 

The  artist  at  the  piano  was  a  youth  of  twenty  four  or 
five  years,  tall  and  slender,  with  long  arms,  very  white  and 
tapering  fingers,  symmetrical  features,  and  cheeks  into 
which  from  time  to  time  the  blood  mounted,  almost  imme- 
diately to  recede,  as  if  the  pianist  blushed  at  the  fervour 
of  his  own  inspiration.  He  was  seated  so  that  Pleasant 
saw  his  face  in  profile,  and  noted  its  statuesque  grace ; 
but  from  time  to  time,  while  idly  following  the  fanciful 
measures  of  the  nocturne,  the  musician  turned  the  face 
fully  round,  and  Pleasant  noticed  that  the  eyes  were  of  a 
curious  blue-black  colour,  and  seemed  to  give  out  light  as 
diamonds  do.  They  were  dangerous  eyes,  powerful  to 
inflict  woe  ;  and  although  Pleasant  could  not  fully  express 
this  thought,  it  nevertheless  passed  through  his  mind.  A 
tender  and  gentle  melancholy  filled  the  face,  as  if  it  were 
the  expression  of  a  soul  saddened  by  its  vain  endeavours 
to  utter  all  the  noble  and  beautiful  sentiments  which  filled 
it ;  but  when  the  white  fingers,  smiting  the  keys  more 
sternly  than  usual,  brought  from  the  piano  some  stirring 
chord,  the  melancholy  gave  way  to  a  kind  of  rude  gran- 
deur. Then  Stanislas  threw  his  chin  up  and  his  head 


STANISLAS.  53 

back,  and  without  affectation  seemed  to  be  courting  the 
caress  of  some  invisible  spirit  upon  his  brow,  which  was 
broad,  pale,  and  serene.  If  Pleasant  had  voiced  the  im- 
pression which  Stanislas  produced  upon  him,  he  would 
have  said,  "  This  is  a  great,  but  not  a  good  young  man. 
There  is  a  savour  of  wickedness  even  in  his  inspiration. 
He  is  a  consummate  artist,  but  his  art  does  not  comfort ; 
it  charms,  while  it  frightens  ;  it  has  a  touch  of  the  super- 
natural in  it." 

A  nocturne  was  scarcely  appropriate,  for  it  was  half-past 
one  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  Herr  Stanislas  finished 
this  "  selection,"  as  Mrs.  Merlin  called  it,  and  leaned  back 
in  his  chair,  while  the  parlour  and  the  halls  rang  wijth  the 
applause  of  the  delighted  tourists.  The  head- waiter 
pushed  his  way  through  the  crowd,  bearing  a  silver  salver 
on  which  was  a  foaming  glass  of  champagne. 

The  player  looked  at  it,  smiled,  and  shook  his  head. 
"  No,  thank  you,"  he  said  ;  "it  would  ruin  the  inspiration. 
Let  me  see,"  —  and  he  passed  his  thin  right  hand  once  or 
twice  over  his  forehead —  "  let  me  see  if  I  can  recall  the 
melody  that  came  to  me  as  I  stood  in  the  mists,  all  alone 
on  the  peak,  on  the  Grimsel  yesterday.  It  was  something 
like  this  :  "  —  and  he  dashed  his  hands  down  on  the  keys, 
producing  an  imposing  combination  of  harmonious  chords, 
which  gradually  shaped  themselves  into  rhythm. 

Pleasant  was  amazed.  The  man's  power  began 
thoroughly  to  assert  itself  over  him  now  ;  yet  he  felt  like 
rebelling  against  it,  like  arising  and  getting  out  into  the 
night,  away  from  the  bewitching  sounds  of  the  music. 
In  the  hope  of  diverting  his  attention  entirely  from  the 
player  he  ventured  to  look  up  at  Miss  Harrelston,  and  was 
startled  to  find  that  her  gaze  was  fixed  intently  on  him. 
He  was  both  delighted  and  pained.  All  his  sensations 
were  so  new  and  composite  that  he  did  not  comprehend 
them. 


54  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

And  now  he  saw  that  Colonel  Cliff  was  aware  of  his 
presence,  and  was  coldly  staring  at  him  through  his  eye- 
glasses. Pleasant  endeavoured  to  avoid  a  recognition,  but 
Colonel  Cliff  caught  his  eye  and  deliberately  bowed.  The 
young  Cherokee  returned  the  bow,  looking  into  space  as 
if  he  saw  something  extreme!}'  interesting  a  mile  or  two 
away,  and  then  looked  at  Miss  Harrelston.  To  his  pro- 
found chagrin  that  pretty  damsel  was  smiling  as  if  she  had 
read  his  secret  thought  and  was  very  much  amused  at  it. 
If  she  had  known  how  the  wild  blood  of  the  young 
Cherokee  bounded  in  his  veins  with  resentment  for  one 
instant,  and  then  how  ashamed  he  was  a  moment  later  for 
his  lack  of  self-control,  she  would  have  been  amazed, 
and  possibly  frightened. 

"There!"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Merlin,  with  that  peculiar 
burr  in  her  speech  which  betrays  the  "Westerner,  "now 
he's  good  for  all  night !  Wild  horses  couldn't  drag  him 
away  from  that  piano." 

It  seemed  as  if  she  were  right.  The  musician,  intoxi- 
cated with  his  thought,  played  on  and  on,  regardless 
of  time  and  people  and  everything  except  the  current  of 
melody  which  flowed  through  his  magnificent  improvisa- 
tion. The  vastness  and  sweetness  of  nature  in  her  gran- 
diose aspects  were  in  this  strange  composition.  Wander- 
ing tones  expressed  the  roar  of  the  cataracts,  the  booming 
of  the  avalanches,  the  whir  of  the  winds  on  the  borders  of 
precipices.  Into  the  body  of  the  composition  were  wrought 
the  perfumes  of  the  hardy  wild  flowers,  the  glitter  of  the 
glaciers,  the  slow  processions  of  the  clouds,  the  splendour 
of  the  roseate  sup  sets  seen  over  the  peaks  tipped  with 
snow.  Miss  Caro  listened  with  parted  lips  and  quickened 
breathing.  lien1  Stanislas  awoke  a  passionate  longing  for 
expression  in  her  soul.  She  envied  him  almost  bitterly 
for  a  moment.  Tears  stood  in  her  eyes  as  he  went  on  from 
exaltation  to  exaltation,  now  in  his  frenzy  seizing  upon  a 


STANISLAS.  55 

theme  and  enriching  it  with  a  thousand  variations,  now 
leaving  it  with  childish  impatience  for  another,  around 
which  he  lovingly  wove  vines  and  flowers,  soft  twitter  of 
birds,  and  the  melodious  flow  of  brooklets.  In  the  mind  of 
each  hearer  he  aroused  sensations  of  which  no  one  of  them 
would  have  been  capable  at  another  time ;  he  embodied 
their  formless  and  floating  thoughts,  and  sent  them  lightly 
hovering  like  spirits  into  the  air.  Even  Colonel  Cliff  put 
aside  his  e3'e-glasses,  sat  down  on  a  stool,  and  swung  his 
hat  helplessly  backwards  and  forwards.  The  splendid 
enchantment  of  genius  had  for  the  time  metamorphosed 
all  these  people  into  poets,  and  they  were  so  exhilarated 
that  they  dreaded  the  cessation  of  the  music  and  their 
own  return  into  the  solemn  and  sad-coloured  world  of 
reality. 

He  stopped  suddenly,  letting  his  hands  rest  on  the 
piano  as  if  he  were  unable  from  very  weariness  to  lift  them. 
The  blood  rose  in  a  swift  wave  to  his  cheeks  and  brow. 
"  Ah !  "  he  said  in  French,  and  in  a  low  voice  which  only 
those  in  the  little  parlour  heard,  "  I  am  horribly  fatigued  ! 
What  nonsense  I  have  been  treating  you  to !  My  head 
swims!  I  think  there  is  no  air  here.  Ciel!  Is  that 
window  open?  One  would  not  say  so.  Ah,  my  poor 
friends,  I  have  wearied  you  !  " 

Mrs.  Merlin  arose  with  officious  air.  "Don't  you 
think,  Mr.  Stanislas,"  she  said  in  a  loud  voice,  "that  a 
cup  of  reel  good  strong  tea  would  be  about  the  very  best 
thing  you  could  possibly  take  now?  " 

The  English  girls  began  to  titter,  but  they  ceased  when 
the  player  turned  round,  and  with  a  radiant  smile  answered, 
in  clear,  staccato  English  — 

"  My  clear  Mrs.  Merlin,  you  always  interpret  my  desires. 
Ah  !  if  you  will  but  make  the  tea  I  will  drink  it  with 
pleasure,  for  you  know  how  to  brew  a  heavenly  beverage." 

' '  Wai,  I  know  you  always  take  it  when  you  come  to 


56  THE   GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

our  house  in  Paris,"  said  Mrs.  Merlin,  with  a  look  of 
intense  satisfaction  in  her  face,  after  she  had  glared  for  a 
moment  at  the  unhappy  English  girls. 

"  If  Madame  will  step  into  the  dining-room,"  said  the 
landlord,  rubbing  his  hands  with  glee,  "  hot  water  and  tea 
shall  be  brought  in  a  little  minute,  and  Madame  can  make 
it  to  suit  Herr  Stanislas.  What  an  honour !  what  a  night 
for  my  house,"  he  murmured,  as  he  bustled  away  to  give 
his  orders. 

"  Oh,  I  grow  each  minute  more  tired  !  "  said  Stanislas, 
"as  tired  —  as  tired  as  these  good  ladies  and  gentlemen 
who  have  done  me  the  honour  to  listen  to  my  ravings. 
But  we  must  not  send  them  to  bed  with  that  nightmare 
symphony  on  their  souls.  AttonsI  Miss  Caro.  will  you 
not  sing  them  a  ballad  ?  —  that  little  one  that  you  sang 
the  day  of  the  picnic  at  Viucennes  ?  How  does  it  go :  it 
is  so  pretty  !  "  —  and  he  felt  out  on  the  piano  keys  the 
simple  burden  of  the  song. 

"  Sing,  Caro,  once,  please  —  unless  you  are  too  tired," 
said  Miss  Harrelston. 

The  tourists  applauded  as  Miss  Caro  went  forward  to 
the  piano,  and  standing  beside  the  musician,  sang,  with 
much  grace  and  simplicity,  an  English  song.  Stanislas 
accompanied  the  girl  with  infinite  art,  investing  the  ballad- 
music  with  a  richness  of  which  few  had  ever  supposed  it 
capable,  and  nodding  his  head  approvingly.  The  girl's 
voice  pleased  every  one,  and  the  old  gentlemen  were  pro- 
fuse in  their  compliments.  She  listened  demurely,  but 
when  Stanislas  said,  "  Ah  !  my  friends,  one  day  you  will 
be  glad  to  say  that  you  heard  her  sing  to-night —  for  she 
will  be  famous,"  she  turned  toward  him  with  a  radiant 
which  made  Pleasant,  who  was  observing  her 
y,  stare.  Miss  Caro  was  evidently  very  proud  of 
the  approval  of  Stanislas. 

And  now  the  company  began  to  break  up,  with  renewed 


STANISLAS.  57 

expressions  of  approval  and  thanks  ;  and  as  Pleasant  rose 
to  make  way  for  the  English  girls,  he  found  Colonel  Cliff 
standing  beside  him,  and  holding  out  his  hand. 

"How  are  you,  Mr.  Merrinott?"  said  the  ex-army 
officer,  in  a  cheery  voice.  Pleasant  scowled  but  shook 
hands.  "  I  heard  that  you  called  on  Mr.  Harrelston  at 
Interlaken,  and  I  should  have  called  on  you,  but  the  ladies 
claimed  me  for  this  excursion.  Glad  to  see  you  in  Europe. 
This  is  better  than  the  Nation,  isn't  it?  Oh,  I  say,  let  by- 
gones be  by-gones  about  that  affair  of  ours,  will  you?  I 
only  did  what  I  thought ' ' 

"  Really,  Colonel  Cliff,  sir,  I  don't  think  there  is  any 
occasion  to  allude ' ' 

"  Oh,  well,  I  couldn't  let  you  cut  each  others'  throats, 
you  know.  I  always  thought  you  misjudged  me  about 
that  matter " 

"  Colonel  Cliff ,  sir " 

"  Besides,  I  am  not  an  army  officer  now,  and  I'm  very 
glad  of  it,  too.  Dog's  life,  especially  for  an  unmarried  man. 
Honour  bright — no  ill  feeling.  Now,  think  of  it — if  I  had 
allowed  that  feud  to  go  on  that  night,  you  might  not  have 
been  here  to  listen  to  this  grand  music.  Come,  I  want  to 
introduce  you  to  Stanislas.  Extraordinary  man  !  Regular 
musical  volcano.  We  are  going  to  take  a  little  supper 
with  him  after  the  mob  has  gone  to  bed.  High  intellectual 
dissipation  this,  eh?  "Will  you  come?" 

Pleasant  never  knew  why  he  yielded,  unless  it  was  be- 
cause there  was  a  chance  that  he  might  be  introduced  to 
Miss  Harrelston.  He  longed  to  say  "  No  "  to  Colonel 
Cliff,  but  he  said  — 

"  "Well,  sir,  you  are  very  kind;  but  I  am  afraid,  sir, 
that  I  shall  be  out  of  place  in  your  party.  I  am  not  very 
wise  in  music." 

"Nonsense.     Come  along." 

And,  before  Pleasant  could  object  again,  he  had  been 


58  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

introduced  to  Stanislas,  who  wrung  his  hand,  said  he 
thought  Indians  were  the  only  real  Americans,  and  that 
they  had  been  shamefully  treated ;  that  he  would  like  to 
visit  America,  and  meant  to  go  there  some  day,  and  write 
a  symphony  describing  the  grand  natural  scenery ;  and  a 
host  of  other  pretty  nothings  which  fairly  took  the  young 
Cherokee's  breath  away. 

"  Mr.  Merrinott  is  an  old  acquaintance  of  mine,"  said 
Colonel  Cliff;  "and  I  have  taken^the  liberty  of  asking 
him  to  join  us  at  supper." 

"Oh,  I  am  very  glad!  "  said  the  musician  enthusi- 
astically. 

"  At  breakfast  you  mean,  I  guess,"  said  Mrs.  Merlin, 
coming  in.  "Jest  see  if  you  dare  look  the  clock  in  the 
face.  Caro,  I  could  'a  shook  you  when  I  heard  you  singin' ! 
Don't  you  know  how  wicked  it  is  to  fly  in  the  face  of  Provi- 
dence that  way?  Didn't  you  come  up  here  to  rest?  Wai, 
the  tea's  read}7,  and  it's  reel  good,  ef  I  did  make  it." 

Pleasant  was  here  dimly  conscious  that  an  elderly  lady 
stood  before  him,  with  a  young  girl  with  brilliant  eyes 
and  olive  cheeks  beside  her. 

"Mrs.  Harrelston,  allow  me  to  present  Mr.  Pleasant 
Merrinott,"  said  the  voice  of  Colonel  Cliff.  "  Miss  Alice 
Harrelston,  Mr.  Merrinott.  And  now,  suppose  we  all  go 
in  to  supper.  The  landlord  has  told  me  something  about 
a  cold  chicken " 

"  Caro,"  said  Mrs.  Merlin,  "  don't  you  let  me  ketch  you 
eatin'  any  supper.  You  may  drink  some  tea,  but " 

"Ma!" 

While  Mrs.  Harrelston  was  saying  to  Mr.  Merrinott 
that  she  had  heard  her  husband  speak  of  him,  and  he  was 
informing  her  that  he  had  spent  the  previous  afternoon 
with  her  husband,  his  eyes  were  fixed  upon  Alice.  He 
would  have  been  glad  to  remove  his  gaze,  but  he  could 
not.  It  was  a  mercy  that  she  dropped  her  fan.  He 


STANISLAS.  59 

picked  it  up  and  handed  it  to  her  with  the  ceremonious 
gallantry  which  he  had  learned  in  "  social  assemblies  "  in 
the  small  Southern  town  where  he  was  educated.  His 
hand  touched  hers  as  she  took  the  fan.  Pleasant  flushed 
deeply  beneath  his  bronze  mask,  and  looked  so  quickly 
and  with  such  a  light  in  his  eyes  at  Alice  that  she  turned 
away  and  began  talking  with  Miss  Caro.  This  made 
Pleasant' s  trouble  all  the  greater,  and  he  engaged  des- 
perately in  conversation  with  Mrs.  Harrelston,  who  was 
prepared,  from  her  husband's  description  of  him,  to  find 
him  "  original,"  and  was  a  trifle  disappointed  at  his  studied 
and  formal  courtes}7. 

At  the  supper  table  he  plucked  up  courage  enough  to 
address  a  few  words  to  Miss  Alice,  who  talked  pleasantly 
with  him  about  music,  and  chiefly  of  operas  which  he  had 
never  seen.  The  ladies  stayed  but  a  few  minutes  at  table, 
however,  protesting  that  the  lateness  of  the  hour  was 
scandalous ;  and  after  they  had  gone  and  the  musician 
and  Colonel  Cliff  had  lighted  cigars,  Pleasant  felt  that  a 
great  weariness  had  all  at  once  fallen  upon  him.  So  he, 
too,  pleaded  fatigue,  and  stole  away  to  bed.  As  he 
climbed  the  stairs  to  his  room,  it  occurred  to  him  that 
he  now  knew  why  fate  had  sent  him  to  Meiringen. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ALICE  HAS   AN  ADVENTURE. 

ALICE  awoke  at  noon,  and  found  her  mother  standing  at 
her  bedside. 

"Why,  daughter,"  said  Mrs.  Harrelston,  "  what  were 
you  dreaming  of?  Something  wonderfully  exciting,  I 
should  judge  !  You  are  very  much  agitated." 

The  daughter  blushed  faintly,  as  with  a  deft  motion  of 
her  round,  white  arm  she  pushed  back  the  luxuriant 
masses  of  hair  which  had  fallen  about  her  shoulders. 

"  Is  it  very  late,  mamma?  "  she  said. 

"  High  noon ;  and  we  are  waiting  for  you  to  take 
dtjetmer  with  us.  Come  down  as  soon  as  you  can." 

Mrs.  Harrelston  retired,  leaving  Alice  glad  that  her 
mother  had  not  repeated  her  question  about  the  dream. 
Was  it  a  dream  ?  It  had  seemed  real  enough  for  a  few 
moments.  She  had  dreamed  that  she  was  wandering  with 
Pleasant  Merrinott  through  a  wild  laud,  and  that  she  was 
the  means  of  saving  him  from  a  great  danger.  His  dark 
face  still  floated  before  her  as  she  made  her  hasty  toilette, 
and  ran  down  to  join  the  company  in  the  dining-room. 
She  found  Stanislas  already  at  the  piano,  playing  dreamy, 
sorrowful  bits  of  Chopin,  alternated  with  mood}*  and 
gloomy  compositions  of  his  own.  As  she  flitted  past  the 
parlour  doorway  he  ran  to  join  her. 

"  We  are  all  here  except  the  Indian,"  he  said. 
60 


ALICE  HAS  AN  ADVENTURE.  61 

"  Heaven  knows  where  he  has  gone.  The  landlord  tells 
me  that  he  was  off  an  hour  or  two  after  dawn,  climbing 
the  hills  as  if  he  were  hunting  for  something  that  he  had 
just  lost.  He  is  an  original,  is  he  not?  And  very  inter- 
esting." 

"I  hope  he  hasn't  gone  for  good,"  said  Mrs.  Merlin, 
who  was  pouring  the  coffee,  and  at  the  same  time  ad- 
ministering bits  of  advice  to  Caro,  in  a  nasal  undertone. 
"  Don't  eat  so  much  butter,  child  ;  it'll  spile  your  voice. 
I  think  Mr.  Merrinott's  reel  amusin'  ;  don't  you,  Mrs. 
Harrelston?  Caro,  do  put  away  that  horrid  Dutch  news- 
paper. You  mustn't  read  while  you  eat." 

Miss  Caro  laid  aside  her  paper  and  her  bread  and 
butter,  and  folded  her  hands,  while  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany took  seats.  "If  you  will  let  me  alone,  ma,"  she 
observed.  "  I  will  take  my  breakfast  here  ;  if  not,  I  shall 
claim  Herr  Stanislas  as  an  escort,  and  go  and  eat  in  peace 
on  the  balcony." 

"Oh  no.  The  Indian  has  not  gone  for  good,"  said 
Colonel  Cliff.  "His  knapsack  is  still  here,  and  he  will 
be  back  in  the  evening.  I  overheard  him  telling  the 
servant  so.  Upon  my  word,  the  fellow  speaks  very 
passable  French." 

"My!  you  ought  to  see  him  when  he's  mad!  "  re- 
marked Mrs.  Merlin.  "When  he  saved  us  out  of  the 
clutches  of  that  landlord  down  to  Brienz  he  seemed  to 
grow  ten  feet  tall;  didn't  he,  Caro?"  And  the  good 
woman  told  the  story  of  his  benevolent  interference,  em- 
bellishing it  to  that  extent  that  Pleasant  appeared  as  a 
brave  chevalier,  devoted  to  the  task  of  rescuing  forlorn 
females  from  trouble  and  anno}*ance. 

Caro  was  on  the  point  of  appealing  with  her  customary 
"Ma!"  a  dozen  times;  but  she  observed  that  Alice 
listened  intently,  and  something  prompted  her  to  let  her 
mother  continue  her  narrative. 


62  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

"  I  must  see  more  of  him,"  said  Stanislas.  "  We  will 
walk  together  in  the  mountains,  if  he  is  not  too  proud." 

' '  Oh !  we  hold  you  for  the  excursion  to  the  Grimsel 
to-morrow,"  said  Mrs.  Harrelston.  "I  know  that  you 
have  just  come  from  there,  but " 

"I  shall  gladly  return  in  such  charming  company," 
said  the  musician. 

' '  Perhaps  we  can  persuade  Mr.  Merrinott  to  accom- 
pany us,"  said  Colonel  Cliff,  bending  forward  and  looking 
intently  into  his  coffee-cup,  "  unless  the  ladies " 

"Unless  we  object?"  said  Mrs.  Merlin.  "How  can 
we?"  She  looked  at  Mrs.  Harrelston,  who  made  no 
answer,  but  did  not  appear  especially  to  disapprove  of  the 
Cherokee. 

So  the  subject  languished,  and  breakfast  usurped  the 
whole  attention  of  the  party,  except  Colonel  Cliff,  who 
was  vaguely  conscious  that  he  had  blundered  in  suggest- 
ing Pleasant  for  the  excursion.  He  did  not  dislike  the 
Indian,  although  he  was  quite  sure  that  the  Cherokee 
held  him  in  abomination.  But  Colonel  Cliff  was  uneasy 
because  of  Pleasant's  arrival  on  the  scene,  and  wished  to 
make  him  declare  his  intentions  as  soon  as  possible. 

"  I  wonder  if  I  madfc  an  ass  of  myself  in  introducing 
the  young  featherhead  to  —  to  Alice  last  night?"  he 
said,  when  he  was  alone  with  his  cigar  in  the  garden 
after  breakfast.  Colonel  Cliff  always  thought  of  Miss 
Harrelston  as  "  Alice,"  and  fancied  that  he  had  a  certain 
sort  of  protectorate  over  her,  although  he  would  not  have 
dared  to  say  so  to  any  one.  This  grave  man  of  forty,  who 
had  left  the  young  wife  whom  he  had  known  only  for  a 
year  buried  in  a  grave  on  a  bleak  hillside,  near  a  frontier 
fort  in  Kansas,  was  beginning  to  recognize  the  fact  that 
he  was  already  intensely  jealous  of  others  who  dared  to 
solicit  Miss  Ilarrelston's  favourable  notice.  "  Confound 
the  Indian !  "  he  said ;  "  he  seems  to  throw  a  shadow 


ALICE  HAS  AN  ADVENTUKE.  63 

across  my  road.  I  wish  one  of  his  sudden  impulses 
would  take  him  back,  post  haste,  to  the  '  Nation.'  Per- 
haps it  will." 

But  if  Colonel  Cliff  could  have  read  the  mind  of 
Pleasant  Merrinott  at  that  moment  he  would  have  de- 
spaired of  any  such  hope.  The  Indian  was  determined 
to  remain  near  Alice  Harrelston  for  a  time.  Ever  since 
he  had  seen  her  in  her  father's  room  at  the  Hotel  Jung- 
fraublick  in  Interlaken  he  had  felt  a  strong  desire  to  be 
where  she  was  —  to  breathe  the  same  air  with  her.  Pleas- 
ant was  a  child  of  nature,  and  the  great  mother  had 
brought  him  up  to  manhood  pure,  with  all  his  feelings 
untainted,  with  his  spirit  unspotted.  A  city-bred  man 
would  have  laughed  at  this  young  Cherokee's  explanation 
of  his  emotions.  Impulsive  and  passionate,  the  youth 
was  capable  of  infinite  suffering,  and  was  doomed  to  be 
misunderstood  by  commonplace  people.  He  had  not  been 
submitted  to  the  excellent  attrition  of  society  in  great 
towns,  and  did  not  realize  that  the  chief  art  in  life -is  to 
dissemble.  He  would  not  have  thought  of  concealing  the 
ardent  admiration  which  he  already  felt  for  Alice  if  he 
had  possessed  the  courage  to  speak  to  her  about  it. 
Nothing  surprised  him  so  much  as  that  he  had  been  timid 
and  abashed  in  her  presence. 

He  had  slept  but  little,  having  been  more  excited 
than  he  had  fancied  possible  by  the  weird  music,  and 
as  soon  as  he  had  bathed  and  dressed  he  rambled  away 
across  the  fields  and  climbed  to  the  edges  of  precipices 
and  peeped  over  the  rocks  until  noon,  when  he  found 
himself  in  a  small  village  perched  on  a  crag.  There 
he  made  himself  much  at  home  until  late  in  the  after- 
noon, lunching  at  the  house  of  an  old  peasant  who 
did  not  understand  a  word  that  he  said,  but  who  seemed 
inclined  to  assent  to  everything  that  Pleasant  alleged. 
He  explored  all  the  cottages,  turned  the  heads  of  the 


64  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

children  by  bestowing  small  pieces  of  money  upon  them, 
and  at  four  o'clock  began  to  think  about  returning  to  the 
Hotel  Reichenbach.  The  children  accompanied  him  down 
a  steep  path  among  the  rocks,  and  into  the  main  high- 
way, which  wound  along  the  mountain  to  the  vale  of 
Meiringen. 

Pleasant  wandered  over  this  road  in  half-bewildered 
mood.  The  exquisite  purity  of  the  air,  the  splendour  of 
the  sunlight,  the  deep  greens  of  the  foliage  on  the  banks 
high  above  the  route,  the  murmuring  of  the  crystal  waters 
as  they  stole  out  from  the  recesses  in  the  rocks,  the  fright- 
ened cries  of  the  little  birds  as  they  saw  a  sinister  hawk 
sailing  majestically  in  air  above  them,  and  the  vast  calm 
of  the  deep  valley  below  him,  thrilled  his  soul  with  delight. 
Once  or  twice  he  stopped  suddenly  as  if  trying  to  collect 
his  scattered  senses.  He  was  comparing  his  mood  on  that 
particular  afternoon  with  the  wretched  and  discontented 
one  into  which  he  had  fallen  some  time  before  his  depar- 
ture from  America,  and  out  of  which  he  had  fancied  that 
he  could  never  climb.  What  was  the  cause  of  these 
sudden  lights  and  perfumes  which  had  invaded  his  whole 
being?  Surely  the  world  was  a  good  world  and  fair  to 
look  upon,  and  he  felt  almost  ashamed  of  the  despairing 
declaration  which  he  had  made  in  the  Kursaal  Garden,  and 
which  had  been  overheard  by  Mr.  Harrelston.  Was  he 
not  neglecting  the  business  on  which  he  had  come  abroad  ? 
Had  he  not  forgotten  the  important  character  of  his  self- 
appointed  mission  ?  What  was  it  his  duty  to  do  ? 

While  he  was  thus  questioning  himself  for  the  hun- 
dredth time,  he  found  that  he  was  approaching  a  comfort- 
able-looking inn,  over  the  central  door  of  which  was  a 
sign  bearing,  in  German  text,  these  words  —  "The  Chalet 
L'Ami."  On  a  broad,  green  terrace  a  few  feet  above  the 
road  a  group  of  waggoners  were  drinking  red  wine  under 
the  spreading  boughs  of  an  ancient  tree  ;  a  fat  and  frowzy 


ALICE  HAS   AK  ADVENTURE.  65 

landlord  was  watching  the  gambols  of  two  puppies  ;  and 
a  baby,  guarded  by  a  little  girl  five  or  six  years  old,  was 
dipping  its  hands  in  the  clear  water  in  a  horse-trough,  and 
laughing  loudly  at  each  splash  and  ripple. 

Pleasant  sat  down  in  a  tiny  arbour  which  overlooked 
the  valley,  and  the  landlord  came  shuffling  to  him,  and  gave 
him  a  sharp  look.  Then  he  said,  in  English  so  bad  as  to 
be  barely  comprehensible,  that  there  was  a  cave  in  the 
woods  behind  the  chalet,  and  that  no  tourist  failed  to  visit 
it.  And  what  would  the  gentleman  drink? 

The  young  Indian  ordered  a  pint  of  wine,  paid  for  it, 
left  it  untouched  on  the  table,  and  set  out  for  the  cave. 
As  he  followed  the  weedy  path  into  a  small  patch  of 
forest,  a  cool  gust  of  wind  smote  his  temples,  and  far  off 
among  the  crags  he  heard  a  sound  as  of  rumbling 
thunder.  He  fancied,  too,  that  for  an  instant  the  sky 
grew  quite  dark. 

Ten  minutes  of  rapid  walking  brought  him  to  a  wooden 
portico,  within  which  were  one  or  two  shaky  seats,  and 
from  this  point  he  could  see  that  what  the  landlord  had 
described  as  a  cave  was  really  an  immensely  long  and  very 
narrow  canon,  at  the  bottom  of  which  the  river  Aar  was 
roaring  with  impatience  to  get  down  to  the  lakes.  An 
earthy  scent  came  up  from  this  caSon,  which  seemed 
full  of  lurking  shadows.  "  I  will  go  into  it  presently," 
thought  Pleasant,  as  he  sat  down  and  leaned  his  head, 
a  trifle  wearily,  against  the  wooden  railing.  But  before 
he  had  contemplated  the  yellow  and  green  mosses  on  the 
rocks  near  him  for  two  minutes,  he  fell  asleep. 

At  that  moment  Alice  Harrelston  was  seated  on  a  rocky 
shelf  at  the  bottom  of  the  canon,  listening  delightedly  to 
the  strange  stories  of  gnomes  and  fairies  told  her  by  a 
diminutive  guide,  clad  in  homespun  garments.  She  had 
left  the  hotel  in  company  with  Colonel  Cliff  for  a  stroll  on 
the  mountain  road,  and  they  had  found  their  way  together 


66  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

into  the  canon.  Alice  was  so  impressed  with  its  weirdness 
and  beauty  that  she  had  requested  the  good  Colonel  to 
return  to  the  inn  at  Meiringen,  order  the  carriage,  and 
bring  the  other  ladies  to  join  her. 

"  Then  we  can  drive  down  in  the  cool  of  the  evening, 
after  having  seen  the  effect  of  sunset  over  the  valley,"  she 
'said.  "I  will  remain  here  and  talk  with  this  mite  of  a 
guide  until  you  come  back." 

Colonel  Cliff  would  have  obeyed  had  Alice  ordered  him 
to  crawl  on  his  hands  and  knees  from  the  canon  to  Inter- 
laken.  He  set  out  at  once,  and  had  just  turned  a  corner 
on  the  highway  when  Pleasant  arrived  at  the  Chalet 
L'Ami. 

Alice  knew  the  German  language  almost  as  well  as 
English  and  French,  but  she  found  it  somewhat  difficult 
to  follow  the  stories  which  the  quaint  little  guide  told 
her.  In  every  sentence  there  was  a  barbarism  which  re- 
quired explanation.  But  the  boy,  who  was  proud  of  his 
employment,  and  who  fancied  that  his  German  was  unex- 
ceptionable, sat  with  his  feet  curled  up,  like  a  Turk,  at  a 
respectful  distance  from  Alice,  and  recited  the  legends 
which  he  had  heard  from  the  lips  of  the  "  oldest  inhabit- 
ants "  in  the  Hasli  Thai.  He  told  her  that  the  gnomes, 
whose  homes  are  in  glittering  palaces  of  gold  and  silver 
and  crystal  in  the  hearts  of  the  mountains,  once  came  to  the 
valley  to  visit  men,  and  that  many  a  peasant,  when  trudging 
homeward  with  his  kine,  or  when  ploughing  a  field,  had 
seen  the  merry  dwarfs  perched  on  a  tree  bough  or  on  a  rock 
.near  him.  From  that  very  grotto  in  which  Alice  was  now 
sitting,  the  gnomes  had  often  come  up  to  the  light  of  day, 
said  the  guide.  Ay,  and  if  the  sons  of  men  had  not  mal- 
treated them  and  driven  them  away,  they  would  come  now 
as  of  old.  The  wicked  peasants  played  tricks  upon  the 
innocent  and  friendly  gnomes ;  they  sawed  the  tree 
branches  half  in  twain,  so  that  when  the  dwarfs  came  to  sit 


ALICE   HAS   AN  ADVENTURE.  67 

upon  them  they  would  get  a  fall ;  and  they  strewed  hot 
ashes  on  the  rocks  where  the  strange  beings  loved  to  dis- 
port. And  when  the  gnomes  saw  these  things,  they  lifted 
up  their  voices,  and  cried,  "  0  wie  ist  der  Hinimel  so  hoch 
und  die  untreue  so  gross  — heute  Melier  und  nimmermehr  1 " 
("  How  high  are  the  heavens,  how  great  is  man's  ingrati- 
tude !  let  us  leave  to-day,  and  nevermore  return  !  ")  The 
peasants  have  never  seen  them  since  that  mournful  cry  was 
uttered.  Good  little  men  were  they ;  kindly  to  farmers 
who  were  kind  to  their  beasts  and  honest  with  each  other. 
The  gnomes  loved  the  chamois,  and  protected  it  from  the 
hunter.  "  Ach !  "  said  the  guide,  "  my  grandfather  once 
told  me  of  a  hunter  who  was  pulled  over  a  precipice  by  a 
gnome,  because  he  persisted  in  hunting  the  chamois  after 
he  had  twice  promised  not  to  do  so." 

Miss  Harrelston  laughed  merrily  and  long  at  the  pale 
face  and  lowered  voice  of  the  boy,  as  he  told  her  these 
legends  of  valley  and  cliff ;  but  she  started  uneasily  as  a 
great  shadow  fell  on  the  rock  where  they  were  sitting  — 
a  shadow  so  cold  and  dull  that  for  an  instant  she  almost 
expected  to  see  a  swarm  of  the  friendly  denizens  of  the 
underworld  come  out  of  it. 

The  guide  jumped  up.  "There  will  be  a  storm  in  a 
few  minutes,"  he  said.  "  Perhaps  the  lady  would  like  to 
return  to  the  chalet?  "  And  as  he  spoke,  a  long  roll  of 
thunder  and  vivid  flashes  of  lightning  came  to  confirm  his 
prophecy.  "  It  thundered  a  while  ago,  also,"  he  added. 
"  This  is  the  second  warning  ;  we  must  make  haste." 

"  Why?  Is  there  any  danger?  "  said  Alice.  "  I  think 
it  would  be  grand  to  see  a  storm  here.  Can  we  not  get 
some  shelter  under  the  edge  of  the  rocks  ?  ' ' 

"  If  the  lady  thinks  that  she  will  not  be  frightened  —  " 
said  the  mite,  who  admired  Alice's  courage.  "  But  no  ; 
the  wind  is  too  string.  I  think  we  shall  have  time  to  reach 
the  chalet." 


68  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

He  helped  her  to  leave  the  rocky  shelf,  and  began 
springing  lightly  up  the  rude  steps  before  her.  Suddenly, 
with  a  thunder-burst  like  the  report  of  hundreds  of  cannon, 
the  storm  swept  down  from  the  crags.  The  shadows  grew 
so  dense  that  Alice  could  scarcely  see,  and  she  stopped, 
trembling  with  fright,  as  the  lightning  darted  its  fierce 
flame  into  the  recesses.  The  wind  shrieked  and  raved  at 
the  top  of  the  steep  path  leading  out  of  the  canon,  and  a 
few  broken  branches  from  the  trees  above  fell  at  her  feet. 
Then  came  a  crash  so  terrific  that  the  boy  turned  and  held 
out  his  hand  to  Alice,  fearful  lest  she  might  make  a  mis- 
step in  the  agitation  caused  by  the  grandeur  of  an  Alpine 
storm. 

"No,  thank  you,"  she  said,  pausing  on  a  small  hillock 
beside  the  path;  "  I  can  get  on  very  well  alone.  Isn't 
the  storm  glorious?  I  wish  you  would  roll  one  of  those 
great  stones  down  to  the  Aar ;  I  should  like  to  hear  it 
rumble,  and  see  it  jump  from  point  to  point.'' 

"If  the  lady  will  stand  farther  back  I  will  do  so," 
answered  the  boy.  And  a  moment  afterward  a  stone 
bounded  by  her  and  leaped  recklessly  along  the  declivity, 
awakening  strange  echoes  as  it  passed. 

"Ah!  that  is  splendid!"  cried  the  girl.  "Roll  one 
more,  and  then  we  will  run  for  the  chalet,  for  the  rain  is 
coming." 

The  mite  obediently  threw  himself  on  his  knees,  and 
tugged  stoutly  at  a  stone  which  lay  imbedded  in  the  earth. 
While  he  was  thus  occupied  a  flash  of  lightning  so  startled 
Alice  that  she  stepped  down  from  the  hillock  and  forward 
into  the  path.  Then  she  heard  a  loud  shout,  and  looked 
up  to  the  enntrace  of  the  canon. 

In  unsettling  the  stone  at  which  he  was  tugging,  the 
boyish  guide  had  loosened  the  supports  of  a  huge  boulder, 
and  was  horrified  to  see  that  it  was  toppling  over,  and  in 
a  moment  would  bound  down  the  narrow  pathway,  sweep- 


ALICE   HAS   AN   ADVENTUBE.  69 

ing  everything  before  it.  He  had  but  just  time,  by  an 
adroit  movement,  to  whirl  himself  to  one  side ;  and, 
glancing  at  Alice,  he  screamed  with  fright  as  he  saw  that 
she  had  stepped  into  the  path.  The  immense  stone  turned 
over  with  a  creak,  and  started  remorselessly  on  its  way, 
as  the  guide  cried  — 

"Oh,  Herr  Je  !  what  have  I  done  ?  She  will  be  killed ! 
Take  care !  Step  back !  "  And  in  his  fear  he  threw 
himself  on  the  ground,  and  shudderingly  watched  the 
dreadful  mass  as  it  moved  downward  into  the  shadows. 

' '  Back  !  for  your  life  !  back !  ' '  shouted  a  louder  and 
more  resolute  voice ;  and  Alice,  although  confused  and 
alarmed,  obeyed  it. 

The  mighty  stone  rushed  past  her  as  if  it  were  a  missile 
hurled  from  the  hand  of  a  Titan.  She  stood,  blankly 
staring  at  it  for  a  minute,  until  it  disappeared,  then, 
comprehending  the  danger  which  she  had  escaped,  her 
strength  gave  way,  and  she  sank  down  on  the  hillock  in 
a  dead  faint. 

The  mite,  pale  with  apprehension,  ran  to  her,  and  was 
raising  her,  when  he  was  swept  away  by  a  strong  arm, 
and  recoiled  in  terror  from  the  apparition  of  a  tall,  dark- 
faced  man,  with  long,  flowing  black  hair,  who  gathered 
the  girl  up  in  his  strong  arms  as  if  she  were  as  light  as  a 
feather,  and  leaped  quickly  from  rock  to  rock  to  the  outer 
entrance  of  the  canon,  where  he  disappeared.  The  mite's 
first  thought  was  that  a  supernatural  being  had  come  to 
carry  off  the  maiden ;  but  presently  he  saw  a  broad- 
rimmed  hat  tying  on  the  ground,  and,  concluding  that  the 
person  who  had  dropped  it  in  his  haste  must  be  human, 
he  picked  it  up,  and  rather  dejectedly  made  his  way  into 
the  open  air  to  restore  it  to  its  owner. 

Pleasant  had  been  awakened  from  his  nap  by  the 
storm,  and  his  first  thought  had  been  to  take  refuge  in 
the  canon.  As  he  stepped  forward  into  the  entrance,  the 


70  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

lightning  had  shown  him  the  whole  situation  at  a  glance. 
He  saw  Alice,  and  divined  her  peril,  for  his  quick  eye 
detected  the  movement  of  the  boulder  before  the  guide 
had  seen  it.  He  had  not  thought  it  possible  that  she 
could  escape  unharmed,  and  even  after  he  had  borne  her 
into  the  light,  and  had  seated  her  on  a  bench  under  the 
wooden  portico,  he  expected  to  see  signs  of  some  ugly 
wound.  In  his  anxiety  he  threw  himself  on  his  knees 
before  her,  and  violently  pressed  one  of  her  hands  to 
bring  her  to  consciousness.  Just  then  a  gust  of  wind  and 
rain  passed  through  the  valley,  and  the  cool  drops  which 
fell  upon  the  face  of  Alice  revived  her.  She  opened  her 
eyes,  and  was  naturally  very  much  surprised  to  find  the 
young  Indian  holding  her  hand  and  kneeling  at  her  feet. 
A  faint  flush  stole  into  her  pale  cheeks.  She  withdrew 
her  hand  hurriedly,  and  arose. 

"I  am  glad  you  are  better,  Miss  Harrelston,"  said 
Pleasant,  speaking  very  fast,  but  not  so  rapidly  that  his 
words  could  keep  time  with  the  beating  of  his  heart. 
"You  had  fainted.  You  must  forgive  me.  I  was  try- 
ing to  bring  you  back  to  life.  I  —  well  —  I  —  you  had 
a  narrow  escape  from  that  rock.  It  was  dreadful  for  a 
moment.  It  made  my  blood  run  cold.  Can  I  —  shall  I  — 
what  can  I  do  to  help  you?  You  must  not  stand  here 
in  the  rain." 

Alice  pressed  her  hands  to  her  forehead.  She  re- 
membered now.  "Was  it  you  who  shouted  the  first 
time?"  she  said,  dreamily. 

"Yes.  I  hope  I  didn't  frighten  you;  but  I  —  I  was 
right  alarmed  myself." 

"  It  was  your  shout  that  saved  me,"  said  Alice. 

Plcasant's  dark  face  was  quite  radiant  for  a  moment ; 
but  it  grew  sombre  again  as  Alice  said  — 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you,  Mr.  Merrinott.  I 
was  quite  —  quite  dizzy  down  there.  It  was  very  foolish 


ALICE   HAS  AN  ADVENTURE.  71 

of  me  to  remain  there,  while  Colonel  Cliff  returned  to 
Meiringen  for  the  other  ladies.  I  —  I  think  I  will  try 
to  reach  the  chalet  before  the  rain  comes  more  heavily." 

And  looking  around,  she  caught  sight  of  the  penitent 
mite,  and  motioned  him  to  precede  her.  Pleasant  stood 
aside  to  let  her  pass. 

"  I  am  sorry  that  I  have  no  umbrella  to  offer  you,"  he 
said.  "  But  an  umbrella  in  the  Swiss  mountains " 

"Would  seem  like  an  insult  to  nature.  Thank  you 
very  much  again  for  your  kindness,  Mr.  Merrinott."  And 
she  tripped  quickly  away  through  the  wet  grass,  quite 
unlike  a  young  woman  who  had  fainted  five  minutes 
before. 

The  Indian  stood  gazing  after  her,  and  started  half 
guiltily  as  she  turned  and  held  up  one  hand. 

"Perhaps  I  may  ask  you  not  to  mention  my  little 
adventure  in  the  cave  when  —  when  you  return  to  the 
hotel,"  she  said.  "My  mother  is  very  nervous,  and  it 
would  shock  her." 

He  bowed  his  obedience. 

The  rain  was  merciful,  and  Alice  was  able  to  reach  the 
chalet  without  a  drenching.  As  they  were  entering  the 
yard,  the  mite,  who  had  not  ventured  to  speak  before, 
observed  — 

"If  it  had  not  been  for  that  black-looking  gentleman, 
I  don't  know  what  would  have  happened.  But  he  gave 
me  a  famous  start.  When  he  caught  you  up  in  his  arms 
and  ran  out  of  the  place,  I  thought  that  he  was  the " 

' '  Caught  —  in  his  arms  —  you  —  you  —  little  monster  ! ' ' 
said  Alice.  "  How  dare  you?  Do  you  know  what  you 
are  saying  ?  ' ' 

He  shrank  away  from  her  as  if  he  feared  her  anger. 
But  when  she  was  comfortably  seated  in  an  arm-chair 
in  the  landlady's  private  room,  and  had  instructed  the 
hostess  to  inform  her  of  the  approach  of  -her  friends  as 


72  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

soon  as  they  were  in  sight,  she  called  the  mite  to  her, 
and  said  — 

"  Now  tell  me  how  it  happened,  and  ever3*thing  exactly 
as  it  was  —  after  —  after  I  fainted,  or  I  —  I  shall  scold 
you  for  your  carelessness." 

And  he  was  still  telling  her  the  story  when  it  was 
announced  that  the  carriage  was  in  sight. 


CHAPTER 

THE    GENTLE    SAYAGE. 

COLONEL  CLIFF  came  hurrying  into  the  chalet,  his  manly 
face  betraying  real  anxiety.  The  rain  was  now  falling 
heavily,  and  the  vast  sheets  of  water  were  from  tune  to 
time  blown  down  the  valley  by  a  roaring  wind. 

"  Are  you  drenched?  "  cried  the  Colonel,  displaying  a 
carriage  blanket  which  he  carried  on  one  arm.  "  It  was 
all  my  fault.  I  shall  never  forgive  myself  for  leaving  you 
there." 

Alice  looked  up  at  him  quickly,  with  a  slight  expres- 
sion of  vexation  in  her  eyes.  She  thought  she  detected 
undue  agitation  in  the  Colonel's  manner.  It  was  not  the 
first  time  that  he  had  shown  an  extreme  solicitude  for  her 
comfort,  and  she  rightly  interpreted  it  as  the  sign  of  an 
earnest  affection.  This  filled  her  with  a  vague  sense  of 
alarm  and  disquiet.  But  she  carefully  concealed  from 
him  these  sudden  impressions,  and  answered,  gaily  — 

"The  storm  has  done  me  no  harm,  Colonel.  This 
little  man  warned  me  in  time,  and  we  have  been  snugly 
ensconced  here  since  the  rain  began." 

She  had  warned  the  mite  anew  not  to  allude  to  her 
adventure  in  the  canon,  and  he  had  promised  absolute 
secrecy.  After  she  had  taken  his  promise,  she  questioned 
herself  as  to  her  motive  in  doing  so.  Why  should  she 

73 


74  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

conceal  so  trivial  an  occurrence  from  her  friends  ?  What 
was  it  to  them — or  to  her  —  that  the  young  Indian  was  at 
hand  to  warn  her  of  her  danger?  She  would  tell  Caro. 
No,  she  would  not !  A  blush  stole  into  her  cheek  as  she 
thought  again  and  again  of  Pleasant  Merrinott  at  her 
feet,  holding  her  hand  pressed  in  his,  and  the  shock  that 
she  felt  when  she  recovered  from  her  unconsciousness  and 
saw  him !  No  !  she  could  describe  it  to  no  one. 

"Of  course  mamma  did  not  come  with  you,  as  she  saw 
that  a  storm  was  brewing,"  she  said,  taking  the  blanket 
from  the  Colonel's  hand  and  throwing  it  over  her  pretty 
shoulders  with  a  graceful  gesture  which  he  observed  with 
adoring  eyes. 

"  No.  Your  mamma  had  retired  to  her  room,  and  we 
thought  it  best  not  to  disturb  her.  But  that  good  soul, 
Mrs.  Merlin,  is  here." 

"And  Caro?" 

"Bent  over  the  piano  with  the  Stanislas.  Do  you 
know,  Miss  Harrelston,  that  the  musician  has  something 
sinister  in  his  face?  The  more  I  see  of  him  the  more  I 
am  inclined  to  be  afraid  of  him." 

"  How  strange  !  "  said  Alice.  "  That  is  the  feeling  that 
I  have.  There  are  moments  when  he  makes  me  shudder. 
I  feel,  when  I  am  looking  at  him,  just  as  I  do  in  presence 
of  some  beautiful  and  noble  wild  animal  that  eyes  me  from 
behind  the  bars  of  its  cage.  I  cannot  help  trembling. 
But  I  suppose  we  are  very  absurd,  for  I  have  always 
heard  Herr  Stanislas  spoken  of  as  a  pattern  of  a  man." 

"That's  it,"  remarked  the  Colonel  dryly.  "That's 
just  it.  He's  too  —  too  much  of  a  pattern.  Men  of 
genius  like  Stanislas  ought  to  have  some  grand  irregularity 
—  some  safety-valve.  He  is  like  a  volcano  that  has  been 
slumbering  a  long  time,  but  around  the  summit  of  which 
a  menacing  shimmer  of  fire  always  hovers.  It  would  not 
do  to  say  it  to  the  Merlins,  however " 


THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE.  75 

"  No  :  Caro  worships  him." 

"  Who's  like  a  volcano?  "  said  Mrs.  Merlin,  coming  in 
at  that  moment.  "Why,  Alice  dear,  how  your  eyes 
shine  !  You  hain't  seen  no  ghosts  up  here  in  the  mountains, 
have  you?  Jest  look  at  the  Colonel,  letting  his  umbrella 
drip  all  over  this  clean  floor !  You  can  judge  how  it  rains, 
Alice  ;  we  spiled  that  umbrel  comin'  from  the  carriage  to 
the  door.  But  it's  goin'  to  break  away.  Yer  mother's 
gone  ter  lie  down,  so  we  didn't  tell  her  that  you  was  up 
here,  gettin'  ketched  in  a  storm.  Caro's  tied  to  the  piano, 
with  Stanislas  a  moonin'  away  over  it  wuss  'n  last  night ; 
and  you  'n'  I  won't  stir  from  here  till  the  rain  stops,  — 
will  we,  child?  " 

She  sat  down  in  an  arm-chair,  and,  as  if  she  expected 
no  answer  to  her  question,  drew  a  bundle  of  crochet-work- 
from  her  pocket,  and  began  to  occupy  her  nimble  fingers 
with  it.  Colonel  Cliff,  after  a  few  moments  of  conversa- 
tion about  the  rain,  left  the  room,  saying  that  he  would 
notify  the  ladies  when  the  return  to  Meiringen  was  practi- 
cable. As  his  tall  form  disappeared,  Mrs.  Merlin  laid 
down  her  work,  looked  up  at  Alice,  who  was  standing  at  a 
window  near  her,  and  remarked  — 

"There  goes  one  of  the  nicest  men  that  ever  lived.  I 
never  set  eyes  on  him  till  last  night,  but  I  know  he's 
jest  as  good  as  gold.  American  army  officers  always  are 
gentlemen  —  leastways,  I  never  see  any  that  wasn't." 

"  Father  thinks  Colonel  Cliff  is  a  sterling  man,"  said 
Alice.  "  Sterling  is  the  highest  complimentary  adjective 
in  father's  vocabulary." 

"Your  father's  right.  The  Colonel's  the  kind  of  a 
man,  now,  that  would  sacrifice  himself,  as  easy  as  not,  for 
anybody  't  he  was  fond  on.  He's  a  model.  But  human 
natur's  curious.  There's  Stanislas :  he's  jest  as  full  of 
genius  ez  he  can  stick,  but  I  don't  believe  he's  trust- 
worthy ;  yet  he's  twice  as  interestin'  as  the  Colonel. 


76  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

There's  the  Injun  ;  no  doubt  he's  a  perfect  pack  of  mis- 
chief, and  can't  control  himself  no  more'n  a  wild  beast 
can ;  but  he's  ever  so  much  more  interestin'  than  the 
Colonel.  Don't  you  think  so  yourself?  " 

"  Really,  Mrs.  Merlin,  I  hadn't  thought  of  making  such 
comparisons.  And  you  say  that  you  distrust  Herr  Stanis- 
las? Why?" 

"  Instinct,  my  dear  child,  instinct.  There's  somethin' 
wrong  about  his  natur' ,  radically  wrong ;  but  we  must 
look  at  the  artist  side  of  the'crittur,  I  suppose.  That's 
what  I  tell  Caro.  If  I  thought  that  she  could  be  interested 
in  him  in  any  other  way,  I'd  send  him  packin',  mighty 
quick." 

Mrs.  Merlin's  emphatic  tone  amused  Alice.  "  Do  you 
think  Caro  could  learn  to  adore  the  man,  rather  than  the 
artist?"  she  said. 

"  She  can't,"  was  the  confident  answer.  "  My  daugh- 
ter's wedded  to  her  profession  ;  nothing  else  can  turn  her 
head.  You  may  be  sure  that  she  rates  Stanislas  jest 
right.  You  ask  her  some  day,  and  you'll  see !  Mercy  on 
us  !  what  a  crash  !  " 

The  two  women  shivered  as  a  grand  peal  of  thunder, 
heralded  by  a  superb  flash  of  lightning,  echoed  through 
the  long  valley.  It  was  the  storm's  announcement  of  its 
departure.  In  a  few  minutes  the  rain  had  ceased,  the 
vapours  had  arisen,  and  the  sun  came  forth  in  splendour 
to  flood  the  hills  and  valleys  with  light  before  he  dropped 
below  the  western  horizon,  and  retired  for  the  night. 
Alice  threw  open  the  window  and  looked  out  on  the  green 
banks,  jewelled  with  millions  of  rain-drops  ;  on  the  stream, 
discoloured,  swollen,  and  brawling,  which  rushed  away  to 
the  plain  as  if  alarmed  by  the  neighbourhood  of  the  tur- 
bulent mountains  ;  and  at  the  vast  and  stone-ribbed  sides 
of  the  Briinig  in  the  distance. 

"  I  wonder  where  the  Injun  is  about  now?  "  said  Mrs. 


THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE.  77 

Merlin.  "If  he's  in  the  mountains  he's  got  a  good 
duckin' ;  but  I  don't  s'pose  he'd  mind  it.  He  hain't  ben 
seen  at  the  house  sence  morning." 

Alice  turned  from  the  window,  laughing  merrily.  A 
picture  of  Pleasant  in  the  canon,  huddling  in  a  corner  to 
escape  the  rain,  and  blown  upon  by  melancholy  winds, 
suddenly  arose  before  her. 

"What  are  you  laughin'  at  —  the  Injun?"  asked 
Caro's  mother.  "Why,  there  he  is,  now!"  she  added, 
rising  and  pointing  to  a  tall  figure  passing  with  elastic 
step  by  the  window. 

She  went  out  to  the  porch  to  meet  him,  but  Alice  did 
not  follow  her.  In  a  few  minutes  Mrs.  Merlin  came  back. 

"  He's  dry  as  a  bone,"  she  said.  "  The  Colonel  asked 
him  ef  he'd  ride  down  with  us,  but  he  said  he'd  ruther 
walk.  Yes,  he  actually  said  ruther.  He  hasn't  got  much 
sense  of  gallantry.  Said  he'd  ben  promenadin'  the  hills 
all  day,  and  liked  it.  He  looks  quite  —  quite  poetic-like  ; 
mebbe  he  isn't  so  savage  as  we  think  he  is." 

"  A  gentle  savage,"  said  Alice.  "  What  a  fascinating 
study !  But  Colonel' Cliff  tells  us  that  Mr.  Merrinott  is 
far  from  gentle  when  he  is  aroused."  And  she  repeated 
to  Mrs.  Merlin  the  story  which  the  Colonel  had  told  her 
father  and  herself  of  the  wild  feud  in  which  Pleasant  had 
been  engaged  in  the  Indian  Territory.  • 

"Yes;  wal — "  said  Mrs.  Merlin,  in  philosophic  vein, 
"  I  s'pose  mebbe  he's  killed  a  man  or  two.  Most  folks 
down  there  have." 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Merlin!  how  can  you  say  such  a  horrible 
thing?  If  I  thought  that  man's  hands  were  stained  with 
the  blood  of  one  of  his  fellow-creatures,  I  could  never 
endure  the  sight  of  him  again  ! ' ' 

She  shuddered ;  and  Mrs.  Merlin  felt  that  she  had 
produced  an  unpleasant  impression  on  the  girl's  mind. 
So  she  said,  caressingly 


78  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

"But,  law!  I  don't  know  anything  about  it.  The 
young  man  may  be  as  pious  as  if  he  was  studyin'  for  the 
ministry,  for  all  I  't  have  heard  to  the  contrary.  I'm 
sure  he  treated  me  with  the  greatest  attention.  All  I  do 
say  is  that  any  man  that  kerries  such  eyes  in  his  head 
as  Mr.  Merrinott  does  '11  need  a  mighty  deal  of  tamin' 
before  he  settles  down  for  good.  Now  you  jest  bear  in 
mind  what  I  tell  you ! ' ' 

His  eyes  ?  Alice  remembered  their  varied  expressions 
very  well.  When  she  had  first  seen  him,  in  her  father's 
room  in  Interlaken,  his  eyes  had  a  wild,  furious  look, 
which  she  did  not  like,  and  which  she  had  never  before  re- 
marked in  any  other  human  being.  But  as  she  knew  that 
the  fierce  blood  of  the  Gherokees  ran  in  Pleasant's  veins, 
she  thought  she  could  understand  what  that  look  meant. 
It  expressed  the  rage  of  a  race  that  had  been  ill-treated, 
robbed,  driven  from  one  home  in  quest  of  another,  and 
now  fairly  at  bay.  But  the  second  time  that  she  had 
met  him,  in  the  tiny  parlour  of  the  inn  at  Meiringen,  his 
eyes  glowed  with  a  deep,  intense  passion  of  which  she  was 
not  afraid,  and  which  she  instinctively  respected.  He  had 
looked  at  her  with  the  frankness,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
with  the  timidity  of  a  child.  Then  his  eyes  were,  as 
Alice  imagined  his  mother's  might  have  been,  filled 
with  a  languid  and  bewitching  tenderness,  behind  which 
slumbered  fires  of  anger  and  resentment.  And  the  eyes 
of  the  man,  as  they  gazed  up  at  her  in  that  one  stirring 
moment  when  he  was  at  her  feet ;  ah !  the  eyes  of  the 
gentle  savage  were  full  of  mysteries  then  —  mysteries 
which  Alice  felt  herself  for  the  moment  incompetent  to 
fathom. 

Colonel  Cliff  came  to  tell  them  that  they  might  now 
venture  abroad,  and  they  drove  slowly  down  the  mountain- 
side in  the  splendour  of  the  sunset.  Alice  was  silent,  and 
the  Colonel,  who  always  respected  her  moods,  made  no 


THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE.  79 

attempt  at  conversation.  Mrs.  Merlin  gossiped  now  and 
then,  expecting  no  responses.  Alice  felt  her  heart  filled 
with  a  strange  happiness,  for  which  she  could  assign  no 
cause.  Nature  seemed  to  her  to  possess  a  new  and  deeper 
significance  than  ever  before.  The  majestic  mass  of  rock 
over  which  the  Alpbach  poured,  and  through  the  crevices 
of  which  it  seemed  to  tear  and  rend  its  way,  awoke  in  her 
soul  the  same  sensations  aroused  by  the  stately  resonance 
of  harmonious  chords  of  music.  The  beautiful  plain,  with 
the  river  winding  along  it,  reminded  her  of  the  quiet  close 
of  some  memorable  symphony.  She  heard  the  melodious 
tinkling  of  cow-bells,  and  the  deep,  melancholy  notes  of 
an  Alpine  horn,  and  the  rustle  of  rain-laden  leaves  on  the 
bank,  and  the  twitter  of  drenched  birds  saluting  the 
grateful  warmth  of  the  departing  sun,  and  the  merry 
shouts  of  rosy-faced  children  playing  by  the  brook's  side — 
as  if  they  were  all  parts  of  a  grand  refrain.  Now  and 
then  a  sigh  rose  to  her  lips,  and  tears  stood  in  her  eyes, 
as  if  she  were  strongly  excited  by  the  music  of  Nature. 
Everything  pleased  and  contented  her  ;  the  cottages  under 
the  spreading  boughs  of  the  ancient  trees  had  seemed  to 
her  prosaic  and  rather  gloomy  as  she  walked  up  the 
mountain  with  Colonel  Cliff ;  but  now  they  appeared 
romantic  and  cool  Arcadian  retreats.  The  fable  of  the 
gnomes  seemed  real  to  her ;  she  half  expected  to  see  weird 
little  men  peering  from  the  hollows  of  the  rocks,  or  vault- 
ing from  bough  to  bough  in  the  trees.  And  all  the  time 
there  was  in  her  heart  a  strange  longing  for  something 
indefinite,  unknown,  in  the  future,  something  which  would 
make  life  a  perpetual  joy. 

When  they  reached  the  hotel,  the  sun  had  disappeared, 
and  the  shadows  had  already  settled  over  the  village  of 
Meiringen,  and  around  the  tower  of  its  ancient  church. 
At  the  Reichenbach  Hotel  silence  reigned  ;  Stanislas  had 
evidently  left  the  piano ;  and  the  guides  had  retired  for 


80  THE   GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

their  evening  meal.  Suddenly  out  of  this  tranquillity 
arose  a  fresh  and  powerful  young  voice,  a  delicious  so- 
prano, that  soared  and  hung  in  the  sky,  and  seemed  to 
make  the  very  hills  listen.  Alice  heard  it  with  mute 
ecstasy;  the  Colonel  lent  a  critical  ear,  and  murmured 
two  or  three  "  Bravos  !  "  but  practical  Mrs.  Merlin  lifted 
up  her  voice,  and  cried  — 

"Carol" 

"Yes,  ma." 

"  What  did  the  doctor  tell  you  before  we  left  Paris?  " 

"  Not  to  shag.  But  it's  no  use ;  I  can't  help  it.  It 
worries  me  more  than  it  rests  me  to  keep  silence.  Stanis- 
las thinks  so  too." 

And  Miss  Caro  came  running  down  to  meet  them, 
singing  as  she  came.  "Don't  scold,  mother,"  she  said. 
"  I  am  so  happy  to-day  that  I  can  no  more  help  singing 
than  a  bird  can  keep  from  flying." 

"  Wai,  I'm  glad  we're  goin'  for  a  mountain  excursion 
to-morrow,  where  there  are  no  pianos,"  said  the  mother. 
"Your  cheeks  are  flushed,  and  your  nerves  are  a-dancin'. 
I  declare  I  can't  leave  }rou  a  minnit.  You'll  be  in  a 
racin'  fever,  first  thing  I  know !  " 

"  The  noble  red  man  came  in  just  ahead  of  you,"  said 
Caro  to  Alice,  "  and  he  is  in  the  parlour  doing  the  agree- 
able to  your  mother,  who  has  got  up  with  the  headache 
that  she  went  to  rest  with.  I  think  he  means  to  make  her 
invite  him  for  the  excursion  to-morrow." 

This  was  said  in  a  low  voice,  but  Colonel  Cliff  over- 
heard it,  and  made  a  wry  face  as  he  went  upstairs. 

Alice  and  C'aro  looked  in  at  the  parlour  door,  and  found 
Pleasant  standing  l>olt  upright  before  the  piano,  talking  in 
animated  fashion  to  Mrs.  Harrelston,  who  was  laughing 
heartily,  and  whose  headache  seemed  to  have  been  momen- 
tarily dispelled.  When  he  saw  Alice  his  voice  fell,  and 
his  ease  of  manner  departed.  She  felt  abashed  and 


THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE.  81 

nervous  ;  for  a  moment  it  seemed  to  her  almost  wicked  to 
keep  their  meeting  at  the  canon  a  secret  from  her  mother 
and  the  others.  But  he  greeted  her  presently,  as  if  he 
had  not  seen  her  since  the  concert,  and  then  sat  down 
awkwardly,  as  if  expecting  her  to  say  something.  Caro- 
came  to  the  rescue. 

"  Our  little  party  is  all  alone  in  the  house  to-night,"" 
she  said.  "  The  English  and  Americans,  in  gray  ulsters, 
and  yellow  ulsters,  and  striped  ulsters,  are  gone ;  the 
chattering  French  are  gone.  The  landlord  says  the  hotel 
is  exclusively  ours.  Think  of  it !  "We  are  the  only  guests 
at  the  table  d'hote,  and  for  us  only  the  Reichenbach  fall 
will  be  illuminated  this  evening." 

"  And  charged  in  our  bills  as  '  illumination,'  one  franc 
and  fifty  centimes  each,"  responded  Colonel  Cliff,  peep- 
ing in. 

"  Monster ! ' '  said  Alice.  "  Don't  spoil  our  fair  young 
dream  with  your  cynicism.  How  dare  you  mention  francs 
and  centimes  in  this  happy  Valley  of  Rasselas?  " 

"  I  hide  my  diminished  head,"  said  the  Colonel,  hum- 
bly. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Merrinott,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Harrelston, 
"  your  story  must  not  be  spoiled  because  these  merry  folks 
have  arrived.  Please  tell  me  some  more  about  the  peas- 
ants that  you  met  in  the  village.  I  believe  that  you  have 
really  driven  my  headache  away." 

But  Pleasant  had  forgotten  how  to  be  amusing.  Alice 
absorbed  his  attention.  The  girl  was  not  slow  to  perceive 
this,  so  she  quietly  left  the  parlour.  The  young  Indian 
brought  his  story  to  a  hasty  conclusion,  and  gave  Mrs. 
Merlin  an  opportunity,  for  which  she  was  anxious,  to  talk 
about  everything  in  general  and  nothing  in  particular 
until  the  dinner-bell  rang. 

Stanislas  came  to  the  table  with  an  open  letter,  written 
on  odd-looking  green  paper,  in  his  hand. 


82  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

"  Quel ennui!"  he  said.  " I  bad  promised  rm-self  great 
pleasure  in  the  excursion  to  the  Grimsel  to-morrow,  but 
I  must  go  to  London  at  once.  The  wretch  who  manages 
my  business  arrangements  has  promised  me  for  a  grand 
concert  at  Lady  Somebody's  house  early  next  week.  Can 
you  understand  a  Lady  Somebody  who  has  the  taste  to 
give  a  concert  after  Parliament  has  risen  and  all  the 
fashionable  world  has  gone  grouse  shooting?  But  I  am 
the  slave  of  my  agent,  and  I  must  go.  Will  Mrs.  Harrels- 
ton  forgive  me?  " 

Mrs.  Harrelston  said  that  she  would,  and  expressed  the 
conventional  regrets.  She  was  not  fond  of  Stanislas,  and 
the  truth  was  that  she  saw  his  departure  with  pleasure. 

"  This  wicked  letter  has  followed  me  from  Lucerne  and 
found  me  out,  although  I  took  a  roundabout  course  to  get 
here  so  that  no  one  should ' ' 

"•  Strike  your  trail,"  suggested  Pleasant. 

' '  —  Succeed  in  following  me  and  annoying  me  with 
business,"  concluded  the  musician.  "AUons  I  let  us  dine  ; 
and,  Miss  Caro,  I  will  give  you,  over  the  dessert,  the  advice 
which  I  had  promised  you  for  to-morrow." 

The  company  was  merry  during  dinner,  and  Pleasant 
was  glad  to  receive  an  invitation  from  Mrs.  Ilarrelston 
for  the  excursion  to  the  Grimsel.  He  saw  Alice  looking 
gravely  at  him  as  he  accepted,  and  this  confused  him  so 
unaccountably  that  he  upset  the  tiny  cup  of  coffee  which 
the  servant  had  just  placed  before  him. 

' '  That  is  the  first  time  we  have  seen  him  do  anything 
ireally  gauche,"  said  Mrs.  Ilarrelston  to  her  daughter,  when 
they  were  in  their  private  room  putting  on  their  cloaks 
for  the  walk  to  the  waterfall. 

They  found  Stanislas  standing  beside  a  carriage  when 
they  came  down  to  the  gate  of  the  little  garden.  "  I  have 
decided  to  go  at  once,"  he  said.  "This  brave  fellow  re- 
turns to  Interlakeu  with  his  team  to-night,  and  I  have 


THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE.  83 

engaged  him.  -I  shall  think  out  some  new  music  as  I  ride 
along  in  the  moonlight,  for  the  moon  will  be  up  presently, 
but  not  soon  enough  to  put  out  the  mimic  fires  of  your 
illumination.  Good-bye,  everybody !  Mademoiselle  Caro, 
I  shall  see  you  in  Paris  in  December." 

"  Not  until  then  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Merlin  in  dismay.  "Why, 
you  promised  us  a  visit  for  the  last  of  September." 

"Alas!  I  am  no  longer  my  own  master.  Blame  the 
wretch  in  London,  Mrs.  Merlin.  For  the  next  three 
months  it  is  concerts  —  concerts  —  everywhere  !  And  shall 
I  take  any  message  to  Mr.  Harrelston  in  Interlaken?  " 

He  turned  lightly  to  Alice,  with  his  travelling  cap  in 
his  hand. 

' '  We  have  sent  a  letter  to  papa  asking  him  to  join  us 
here,"  said  Alice.  "We  think  the  air  will  do  him  good." 

Pleasant,  who  was  sitting  on  a  wooden  bench  in  the 
shadow  of  the  garden  palings,  looked  up  hastily  as  he 
heard  this.  He  wondered  what  Mr.  Harrelston  would  say 
to  him  when  he  found  him  in  the  company  of  his  wife  and 
daughter. 

Stanislas  rolled  away  in  his  carriage,  leaving  the  land- 
lord bowing  and  scraping,  and  murmuring,  "What  an 
honour  for  my  poor  house  ! ' '  Then  a  bell  rang  noisily, 
and  Pleasant  was  surprised  to  find  Miss  Caro  standing  in 
front  of  him,  saying  — • 

"Mr.  Merrinott,  will  you  kindly  give  me  your  escort? 
That  is  the  signal  that  the  men  have  left  for  the  falls  with 
their  lights.  Come,  ma."  And  Pleasant  found  himself 
walking  along  the  darkened  road  between  Mrs.  Merlin 
and  Caro. 

They  stopped  on  a  small  wooden  bridge  over  the  tor- 
rent not  far  from  the  hotel,  and  there  Alice  and  her 
mother  and  Colonel  Cliff  joined  them.  They  heard  the 
roar  of  the  Reichenbach  fall,  but  could  see  nothing. 

"  It's  more  impressive  when  you  can't  see  it,"  said  the 


84  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

Colonel.  "  The  idea  of  burning  blue  lights  in  front  of  a 
Swiss  mountain  stream !  " 

"  There  !  "  cried  Caro. 

The  mountain  side  was  brilliantly  lighted  up ;  the 
Reichenbach  sprang  out  of  the  blackness,  and  was  seen 
leaping  and  foaming  among  the  rocks.  Now  it  was  blood- 
red,  now  purple,  now  green,  now  violet,  and  at  last  in- 
tensely white.  Then  the  lights  went  out. 

"  I  like  the  darkness  best,"  said  Pleasant. 

"  Don't  frown  on  the  moon,  Mr.  Merrinott,"  remarked 
the  Colonel.  ' '  For  see  —  there  she  comes,  peeping  timidly 
over  the  horizon ' ' 

"  As  if  she  had  heard 'you  express  your  preference  for 
the  dark,  and  were  half  inclined  to  go  back  again," 
observed  Caro. 

"  She  is  not  afraid  of  me,"  said  Pleasant.  "  She  has 
been  with  me  on  many  a  hunting  excursion  at  night,  and 
has  helped  me  through  marshes  and  over  hills.  Come 
back  here  at  midnight  and  see  what  she  can  do  in  the 
line  of  illumination.  I  reckon  it  would  take  a  hundred 
million  Roman  candles  to  equal  one  of  her  beams." 

"  Oh  !  but  you  see  the  landlord  couldn't  charge  for  the 
moonlight,  and  he  can  for  the  candles,"  was  Mrs.  Merlin's 
remark.  "  Let's  go  in  ;  I'm  all  of  a  shiver." 

Caro  managed  adroitly  to  take  possession  of  Colonel 
Cliff  as  they  turned  homeward,  and  to  bring  Alice  and 
Pleasant  together,  leaving  the  two  mothers  to  follow  in 
the  rear.  The  Indian  offered  his  arm  to  Alice  as  if  he 
feared  that  she  would  not  take  it,  and  stumbled  against 
a  stone  in  the  road  as  he  did  so.  Miss  Harrelston  was 
amused  at  his  trepidation.  It  consoled  her  a  trifle  for  her 
own,  which  she  felt  whenever  she  thought  of  the  canon 
and  her  adventure.  As  they  approached  the  hotel  her 
escort  said,  in  a  very  low  voice  — 

"  You  did  not  tell  your  mother?  " 


THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE.  85 

"  No.     Do  you  think  I  ought  to  do  so?  " 

"Certainly  not;  that  is  —  I  reckon — what  is  your 
idea?" 

"There  is  nothing  to  tell,"  she  said,  rather  coldly. 
"  The  gentle  savage  is  somewhat  inquisitive,"  she  thought. 

Pleasant  was  so  abashed  by  her  answer  that  he  said 
nothing  else  to  her  but  ' '  Good  night, ' '  as  they  reached 
the  hotel  door. 

When  he  went  to  bed,  two  hours  later,  his  keen  eyes 
caught  sight  of  a  folded  paper  lying  in  the  corner  of  a 
stair.  He  picked  it  up,  and  examined  it,  by  the  dim 
candle-light,  when  he  reached  his  room.  It  was  a  letter, 
written  in  French,  and  besides  the  date,  at  Berne,  it  con- 
tained these  words  only  :  "Dear  Stanislas,  Come  at  once. 
VERA."  The  words  were  scrawled  in  delicate  feminine 
script,  on  singular-looking  green  paper. 

The  gentle  savage  smiled.  "  I  should  not  have  read 
this,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  This  is  the  letter  which  Mr. 
Stanislas  had  in  his  hand  when  he  came  to  the  dinner-table. 
In  the  hurry  of  going  away  he  dropped  it  on  the  stairs. 
Now,  how  am  I  to  get  it  to  him  again?  It's  odd.  But 
perhaps  his  agent  in  London  writes  to  him  on  green  paper, 
too." 


CHAPTER   VIH. 

A   REPROOF    FOR   PLEASANT. 

IN  the  morning,  when  Pleasant  awoke  and  saw  the  green- 
coloured  letter  lying  on  his  dressing- table,  he  smiled  again, 
and  then  he  fell  to  wondering  who  "  Vera  "  could  be,  and 
whether  this  were  really  the  letter  which  Stanislas  had 
held  in  his  hand  when  he  came  to  the  table  d'hdte.  While 
musing,  he  heard  a  dull  pattering  sound  on  the  roof  of  the 
porch  just  under  his  window,  and,  looking  out,  he  observed 
that  it  was  raining  heavily.  It  was  evident  that  there 
would  be  no  excursion  to  the  Grimsel  that  day.  He  was 
glad  of  it ;  perhaps  he  would  have  a  chance  to  be  near 
Alice,  to  hear  her  speak,  to  note  the  faint  red  which  came 
into  her  cheeks  when  she  was  engaged  in  animated  con- 
versation or  as  she  listened  intently,  and  to  rest  his  eyes 
on  the  sweet,  low  brow,  crowned  with  the  black  and  glossy 
hair.  The  great  mists  which  came  sweeping  through  the 
valley,  blotting  out  the  fields  and  trees  and  cottages,  and 
seeming  to  leave  the  little  inn  floating  among  the  clouds, 
pleased  him,  and  he  could  have  thanked  them.  It  was 
yet  early,  but  he  dressed  hastily,  and  after  putting  the 
green  letter  carefully  away  in  a  corner  of  his  knapsack, 
he  went  downstairs.  No  one  was  astir ;  not  even  the  cor- 
rect and  usually  punctual  head-waiter  showed  his  white 
and  fatigued  face. 
80 


A  EEPEOOF    FOE   PLEASANT.  87 

Pleasant  paced  the  corridor  for  half  an  hour,  at  the 
end  of  which  time  there  was  a  lull  in  the  down-pouring 
rain.  He  ran  up  to  his  room,  came  down  again  with  some 
towels  over  his  arm,  and  went  away  into  the  mist,  striding 
along  like  the  hard}'  forester  that  he  was.  He  climbed 
to  a  secluded  nook  in  the  mountains,  where  a  small  pool 
under  the  shadow  of  some  great  rocks  was  formed  by  a 
torrent  which  found  its  impetuous  course  checked  by  rocky 
barriers.  There  he  stripped  off  his  garments  and  plunged 
into  the  cold,  foamy  water.  Ten  minutes  later  he  stood, 
a  bronze  demi-god,  naked  and  dripping,  on  a  rock,  with 
the  mists  circling  about  him.  He  was  so  absorbed  in 
thought  that  he  narrowly  escaped  walking  down  to  the 
hotel  in  the  primitive  condition  in  which  he  had  left  the 
water  :  —  he  had  quite  forgotten  his  clothes.  But  pres- 
ently the  cold  wind  on  his  shoulders  reminded  him  of  his 
nudity,  and  he  made  himself  once  more  presentable,  think- 
ing, as  he  dressed  and  tried  to  dry  his  long  hair  ;  thinking, 
as  he  tied  a  negligent  knot  in  the  loose  cravat  at  his 
throat ;  thinking  so  hard,  as  he  pulled  on  his  shoes,  that 
he  sat  for  some  minutes  with  one  of  them  half  on,  with 
his  fingers  in  the  straps  and  his  body  bent  double. 
Pleasant  was  making  up  his  mind  for  a  course  of  action 
which  he  feared  he  might  regret.  By  the  time  he  had 
descended  the  steep  path  to  the  hotel  he  was  pretty  fully 
resolved,  aud  the  firmness  of  his  decision  was  visible  in 
his  eyes. 

"My!  look  at  the  Injun,  bareheaded,  with  his  hair 
strearnin'  down  his  back,  comin'  into  the  garden,"  cried 
Mrs.  Merlin  from  the  parlour  to  the  girls,  who,  merry  and 
mutinous  after  a  night's  refreshing  sleep,  came  running  to 
the  window  to  see  if  Pleasant  answered  to  the  description. 
"  Wai,  I  must  say  that  he  does  love  to  tramp  around  in  the 
rain  !"  she  added  ;  but  she  had  no  time  for  further  criticism,  _ 
for  he  was  at  the  parlour  door  before  they  could  retreat. 


THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

kt  Why,  Mr.  Merrinott,  you  are  abroad  early!"  said 
C'aro.  "  Were  you  out  in  the  rain  ?"  She  observed  that 
his  hair  was  wet,  and  in  his  hurried  toilet  at  the  torrent 
h3  had  thrown  it  back  from  his  forehead  in  a  manner 
which  gave  his  face  a  new  expression  —  fiercer  than 
usual. 

"In  the  rain?"  he  answered  gaily.  "I  have  been 
in  the  creek,  the  bach,  the  stream  up  yonder;  "  and  he 
pointed  to  the  hills.  "  It  was  delightful.  When  I  was 
quite  alone  there,  with  the  clouds  all  around  me,  and  the 
water  clashing  over  me,  I  felt  as  if  I  were  the  first  man  ; 
us  if  the  world  were  all  primitive  and  savage  as  yet ;  as 
if  there  were  no  clothes,  no  firearms,  no  railroads,  no 
laws  ;  and  as  if  I  should  come  out  of  my  bath,  get  warm 
by  vigorous  exercise,  and  proceed  to  hunt  my  breakfast 
with  a  stone  for  a  weapon,  as  my  ancestors  did !  It 
was  a  great  sensation  !  " 

Caro  was  puzzled.  She  blushed,  and  threw  out  a 
listress  signal  to  Alice,  who  was  also  disturbed  by  this 
odd  burst  of  enthusiasm,  which  she  hardly  knew  whether 
to  regard  as  ludicrous  or  fine.  Mrs.  Merlin  spared  them 
by  remarking  — 

"  Most  likely  you  ketched  cold.  Takin'  baths  in  the 
open  air  in  the  rain  ain't  over-conducive  to  health.  But 
perhaps  you're  used  to  it  at  home,  Mr.  Merrinott?  " 

••Oh  yes;  indeed,  I  am  never  afraid  of  the  water, 
whether  it  falls  from  the  sky,  or  over  a  precipice,  or  flows 
in  a  deep  channel.  But  I  once  got  into  a  river  sooner 
than  I  expected  to,  and  —  now  I  think  of  it  —  I  reckon  I 
was  right  startled  for  a  minute  or  two." 

Hi'  sat  clown  on  the  sofa,  and,  dropping  his  hat  care- 
lessly beside  him,  seemed  inclined  for  conversation. 

"  Oh,  was  it  an  adventure,  Mr.  Merrinott?  If  it  was, 
please  tell  us  about  it,"  said  C'aro,  recovering  courage, 
and  glancing  at  Alice,  who  seemed  at  first  disposed  to 


A  REPROOF   FOR   PLEASANT.  89 

leave  the  room,  but  who  sat  down  on  the  piano  stool  the 
moment  that  Pleasant  began  to  speak  again. 

"An  adventure?  Yes,  it  was  an  adventure,  right 
stirring,  for  a  short  time.  My  brother  was  in  it  —  my 
brother  who  is  dead."  His  brow  clouded  and  his  eyes 
flashed.  The  two  girls  looked  up  quickly  at  him,  for  his 
voice  had  betrayed  strong  emotion.  "I  suppose  you  know 
that  the  country  I  live  in  is  but  thinly  settled,  wild,  full  of 
game —a  paradise  for  hunters.  Some  years  ago  my  brother 
and  I,  with  five  or  six  of  our  neighbours,  were  returning 
from  a  hunting  excursion,  and  I  reckon  'twas  about  six  or 
seven  in  the  morning  when  we  came  to  the  Grand  River, 
at  the  ferry  opposite  Fort  Gibson.  It  was  in  January ; 
there  had  been  a  cold  spell,  succeeded  by  a  thaw,  and  the 
ice  in  the  stream  was  breaking  up,  and  making  for  the 
Arkansas,  into  which  the  Grand  empties,  not  far  below 
the  fort.  It  was  a  noble  sight  to  see  the  great  cakes  of 
ice  jumping  up  and  down  and  knocking  together,  or 
thumping  against  the  banks.  AVe  signalled  the  ferryman 
to  come  over,  but  he  didn't  seem  inclined  to  make  the 
attempt.  The  ferry-boat  is  a  barge  attached  to  a  cable 
stretched  across  the  river  by  ropes  fitted  with  pulleys,  so 
that  they  run  along  the  cable  when  the  barge  is  poled 
back  and  forth.  The  current  is  right  powerful,  and  the 
ferryman,  thinking  of  that  and  of  the  ice,  hung  back. 
But  we  were  anxious  to  get  home,  and  couldn't  afford  to 
wait  his  pleasure,  so  we  paraded  our  horses  up  and  down, 
fired  off  our  revolvers,  and  shouted,  but  all  in  vain.  Just 
as  we  were  making  a  final  effort,  seven  of  the  Bluelots 
rode  up.  Their  arrival  set  us  to  thinking  of  a  right  smart 
lot  of  things  besides  getting  over  the  ferry." 

"  Why?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Merlin. 

"  The  Bluelots  are  a  family  of  half-breed  Indians,  who 
have  had  a  feud  with  my  family  ever  since  we  were  all 
children.  Our  fathers  were  enemies  before  us.  I  am 


90  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

afraid  that  this  is  not  a  proper  thing  for  ladies  to  hear ; 
but  the  Bluelots  and  the  Merrinotts  have  been  fighting 
each  other  so  long  that  whenever  any  representatives  of 
the  two  names  meet  blood  is  right  certain  to  flow." 

"  It  is  horrible  —  wicked,"  said  Alice,  rising  and  look- 
ing at  the  young  Indian  with  indignation  in  her  eyes. 
"It  isn't  civilized." 

"  Quite  true  ;  but  it  is  —  Indian." 

"  Please  go  on,"  said  Caro. 

"Well,  the  Bluelots,  like  ourselves,  had  been  hunting; 
the  two  brothers  each  had  a  deer  hung  over  his  horse's 
back,  and  their  five  sons  were  not  empty-handed.  When 
they  rode  up  and  saw  us  the  brothers  gave  a  start,  and 
began  to  mutter  to  their  sons.  We  didn't  exactly  want 
any  disturbance,  for  we  were  anxious  to  get  home,  and 
my  brother  and  I,  being  the  only  Merrinotts  in  our  party, 
didn't  feel  strong  enough  to  meet  the  seven.  The  oldest 
of  the  Bluelot  brothers  by-and-by  burst  out  laughing,  and 
he  said,  in  Cherokee,  to  his  partner,  '  What  strange  com- 
pany we  meet,  when  we  get  up  early  in  the  morning.' 
Then  the  whole  seven  laughed,  and  my  brother  put  his 
hand  on  his  revolver,  but  he  thought  twice,  and  didn't 
draw  it,  for  just  then  he  saw  the  ferryman  put  off  and  try 
to  get  across  to  us,  tempted  by  the  additional  number  of 
passengers  who  had  arrived. 

"After  a  powerful  deal  of  trouble  and  some  danger 
the  old  barge  swung  up  to  the  bank,  and  the  Bluelot 
brothers  and  their  sons  rode  down  to  it  ahead  of  us. 
We  made  no  objection,  because  we  didn't  want  to  in- 
volve the  hunters  with  us  in  a  difficulty.  There  was  no 
end  of  work  in  getting  the  horses,  and  the  dogs,  and  the 
dead  doer  aboard,  but  when  we  did  get  untangled,  and  the 
ferryman  pushed  off,  we  found  the  seven  Bluelots  on  one 
side  of  the  barge,  and  our  party  —  we  were  only  six — on 
the  other.  Even  the  horses  seemed  to  separate  by  instinct, 


A  EEPEOOF  FOR   PLEASANT.  91 

and  the  Bluelot  dogs  showed  their  teeth  at  the  Merrinott 
dogs.  But  the  Bluelot  brothers  laughed,  and  their  laugh 
was  worse  than  the  dogs'  barking. 

"  The  river  was  running  mighty  high,  and  the  ferryman 
had  all  he  could  do  to  keep  the  barge  moving.  '  If  the 
cable  snaps,  boys,'  he  said,  '  we'll  all  go  waltzing  down  to 
the  Arkansas  Eiver,'  as  we  seemed  likely  to  do  at  any 
minute.  The  soldiers  came  out  from  the  fort  and  looked 
on  with  interest.  All  at  once  the  ferryman  cried  to  us  to 
pick  up  some  of  the  long  poles  lying  in  the  bottom  of  the 
barge,  and  to  help  push  past  a  great  ice-cake  that  looked 
ugly.  "We  all  took  hold  then,  for  we  saw  that  we  were 
in  danger,  and  the  Bluelots  were  working  alongside  of  us 
before  we  knew  it.  After  a  little  time  we  got  past  the 
cake,  and  threw  down  the  poles.  One  of  the  Bluelot  boys 
managed  to  drop  the  heavy  end  of  his  pole  so  that  it  fell 
on  one  of  my  brother's  feet. 

"  My  brother  jumped  into  the  middle  of  the  barge  floor. 
'You  black-looking  scoundrel,'  said  he  to  the  Bluelot  boy, 
'  I'll  teach  you  to  drop  poles  on  me  ; '  and  there  were  six 
or  eight  revolvers  out  in  a  second.  I  stood  up  beside  my 
brother,  when  the  father  of  the  Bluelot  boy  who  had  made 
the  trouble  reached  at  me  and  caught  me  up  —  I  was  not 
full-grown  then.  He  gripped  me  hard  and  fast,  —  I 
reckon  he  held  me  out  at  arm's  length  —  and  he  said, '  We 
don't  want  any  children  interfering  in  this  fight.  I'll  put 
you  into  the  water ; '  and  the  next  minute  I  was  splashing 
in  the  Grand  River,  and  grasping  at  the  slippery  sides  of 
an  ice-cake." 

Mrs.  Merlin  laughed ;  Caro  wore  a  critical  look ;  but 
Alice  seemed  deeply  shocked  and  offended.  She  glanced 
impatiently  at  the  Indian,  as  he  continued  his  story  after 
a  short  pause. 

"Of  course  I  was  right  startled,  but  I  was  so  mortified 
and  so  angry  that  my  fall  didn't  hurt  me  any.  There  was 


92  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

a  lump  of  ice,  though,  half  as  large  as  a  log  cabin,  which 
ran  over  me,  and  scraped  me  so  hard  that  I  fainted  dead 
away.  When  I  recovered  my  senses,  I  was  lying  on  the 
bank,  and  the  old  ferryman  was  pouring  liquor  down  my 
throat.  A  couple  of  soldiers  from  the  fort  had  brought 
down  some  blankets,  and  I  was  covered  up  to  the  chin. 
'  Who  got  me  out  ? '  I  said.  '  Your  brother  Elias,'  answered 
the  ferryman.  '  He  fired  two  shots,  and  then  he  leapt  in 
after  ye.  He's  gone  off  home  for  help,  for  he's  afraid  the 
Bluelots  may  come  back.'  '  Are  they  whipped?  '  I  said. 
'  They  are.  Two  of  them  are  dead  as  stones  —  two  of  the 
sons.  The  folks  that  was  with  ye  turned  in,  and  said  they 
wouldn't  'low  no  foolin'  round  men  they'd  been  huntin' 
with,  and  they  helped  Elias  clean  out  the  Bluelots.  Yer 
brother's  the  bravest  man  in  the  Cherokee  Nation,  but  he 
can't  fight  seven  half-breeds.'  The  old  ferryman's  Eng- 
lish sounded  good  to  me  when  he  told  me  these  things, 
but  not  so  good  as  Elias's  Cherokee  language  did  when 
he  came  back  an  hour  afterward  and  told  me  all  the 
details  of  the  story.  Well,  when  I  got  warm  once  more 
I  mounted  a  horse  and  rode  home,  and  that  was  all.  I 
only  mentioned  it  because  I  happened  to  think  of  my 
involuntary  bath  in  the  Grand  River." 

' '  But  the  two  men  that  were  killed  —  who  —  who  — 
shot  them?"  said  Alice,  with  a  strange  anxiety  in  her 
voice. 

"  My  brother  never  told  me  that,"  answered  Pleasant. 
"  It  would  be  difficult  to  say,  because  it  was  a  general 
fight.  But  just  two  years  afterward  my  brother  was  killed 
by  the  Bluelots.  The  account  is  still  open." 

"  What  a  nightmare  story  you  have  told  us,  Mr.  Mer- 
rinott !  "  said  Curo,  sitting  down  on  the  piano  stool, 
from  which  Alice  had  moved  away  to  the  door.  "  Mercy  ! 
what  a  picture !  I  can  see  the  Grand  River  running 
rapidly,  with  the  ice-blocks  bounding  up  and  down,  and 


A  EEPKOOF  FOR  PLEASANT.  93 

the  ferry-boat  toiling  across,  and  the  fight  in  progress.  If 
Stanislas  were  here  he  would  make  a  symphony  of  it." 

"  And  Mr.  Merrinott  spinnin'  through  the  air  and 
fallin'  plump  into  the  water!"  said  Mrs.  Merlin.  "I 
should  like  to  see  Stanislas  put  that  in  his  symphony." 

"  Really,  Mrs.  Merlin,"  said  Alice,  "  I  can  see  nothing 
laughable  in  this  story.  It  seems  to  me  full  of  horror. 
Tell  me,  Mr.  Merrinott,  is  that  the  kind  of  life  which  you 
lead  in  the  Indian  Nation?  " 

Pleasant  rose  and  took  up  his  hat.  The  frown  had 
vanished  from  his  face,  and  there  was  an  expression  of 
deep  regret  in  his  eyes.  "  I  can  see,  Miss  Harrelston," 
he  said,  humbly,  "  that  my  story  has  offended  you.  I  am 
right  sorry,  and  I  hope  that  you  will  forgive  me.  You 
cannot  regret  my  error  more  than  I  do.  I  am  afraid  that 
I  am  not  a  companion  for  ladies.  Yes,  there  are  feuds  on 
the  border,  and  I  reckon  there  always  will  be.  They  are 
legacies  that  we  are  forced  to  accept,  and  we  grow  to 
consider  them  as  matter-of-fact." 

"  Legacies  which  can  bring  only  sorrow,  bitterness, 
shame,  and  despair,"  said  the  girl. 

Pleasant  looked  down  at  the  floor.  Alice's  words  were 
full  of  reproof  meant  for  him. 

' '  There  is  one  thing  which  I  ought  to  tell  you !  "  he 
said.  "Justice  and  right  in  this  feud  are  on  our  side  — on 
my  side.  The  Bluelots  are  the  head  and  front  of  the  party 
which  wishes  to  give  up  our  independence  as  a  nation,  and 
to  become  part  of  the  population  of  the  United  States. 
They  are  traitors,  and  they  have  carried  on  war  against 
my  family  for  years  because  we  have  dared  to  tell  them 
that  they  are  guilty  of  treason,  and  have  been  successful 
in  checkmating  their  plans.  There  is  no  way  of  settling 
the  dispute  with  them  except  by  exterminating  them  !  " 

"Noway?"  said  Miss  Harrelston.  Her  cheeks  were 
flushed  now,  and  she  came  back  from  the  parlour  entrance 


94  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

to  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  spoke  so  quickly  and 
earnestly  that  Pleasant  recoiled  a  step  or  two.  "  Do  you 
mean  to  say  that  there  is  no  virtue  in  persuasion  —  in 
arbitration  —  in  eloquence — that  can  keep  the  members  of 
two  families  from  flying  at  each  other's  throats  every 
time  that  they  meet  because  they  disagree  on  a  question 
about  land  ?  No  way  ?  Mr.  Merrinott,  would  you  make 
us  think  that  you  are  savages?  " 

•'I  believe  that  is  what  we  are  generally  called," 
answered  Pleasant,  coldly.  He  was  sorry  now  that  he  had 
entered  the  parlour.  Alice  alarmed  him ;  he  felt  that  if 
he  allowed  himself  to  be  drawn  into  a  discussion  with  her 
she  would  place  his  conduct  in  such  a  light  that  he  himself 
could  not  approve  of  it.  But  he  approved  of  her  —  most 
emphatically  —  although  she  was  judging  him  harshly. 
He  thought  that  he  had  never  seen  a  more  lovely  creature 
than  Alice  Harrelston  was,  as  she  stood  before  him  with 
her  face  brilliant  with  excitement.  "  Let  me  ask  you 
once  more  to  excuse  me  for  introducing  the  subject," 
he  said. 

"  Mr.  Merrinott,"  said  Alice,  "did  you  ever  kill  a 
human  being?  " 

The  question  was  so  abrupt  that  Mrs.  Merlin  and  Caro 
looked  at  the  girl  in  astonishment,  and  for  a  moment 
seemed  to  think  her  almost  guilty  of  unmaidenly  forward- 
ness in  persecuting  the  unlucky  Pleasant,  who  was  now 
thoroughly  ill  at  ease.  Had  they  known  the  tremendous 
effort  which  it  cost  Alice  to  ask  the  question,  and  her  real 
motive  in  asking  it.  their  respect  for  her  would  have  been 
increased  an  hundredfold. 

'•Never."  answered  Pleasant;  "I  have  once  or  twice 
been  obliged  to  defend  myself,  but  I  have  never  taken 
a  life.  But  I  will  not  deceive  you.  When  my  poor 
brother  was  killed  —  as  Colonel  Cliff  has  probably  told 
vou  —  I  did  mv  best  to " 


A  BEPROOF  FOK  PLEASANT.  95 

"  Hush-sh,"  said  Mrs.  Merlin.  "  Alice,  here  comes 
your  mother.  I  don't  think  that  it  would  do  her  any 
good  to  know  what  we've  ben  talkin'  about.  Mr.  Mer- 
rinott,  don't  look  so  gloomy.  Caro,  can't  you  play  a 
tune  with  some  go  to  it  ?  And's'pose  we  talk  about 
somethin'  better  'n  murders  at  the  breakfast-table." 

Caro  dashed  recklessly  into  the  mazes  of  the  Kiinst- 
lerleben  Waltz,"  and  Mrs.  Harrelston,  when  she  came  in, 
fancied  that  they  had  all  been  discussing  Strauss. 

"  No  excursion  for  us  to-day,"  she  said.  "  The  world 
seems  drowned.  I  think  the  hotel  will  float  away  pres- 
ently. And,  Alice,  here  is  a  letter  from  your  father " 

"Who  can't  come,  of  course.  I  wonder  if  the  dear 
old  father  remembers  that  this  is  the  first  time  I  was  ever 
out  of  his  sight  for  three  consecutive  days." 

"No,  he  cannot  come.  He  has  been  summoned  sud- 
denly to  Paris ;  the  despatch  had  reached  him  before  our 
letter  arrived.  He  begs  us  to  return  home  as  soon " 

"As  convenient,  and  remains  ever — I  know  just  how 
the  letter  reads.  Poor  papa !  he  is  a  slave  to  stocks  and 
checks,  and  first  and  second  mortgages,  and  railway 
bonds,  and  such  horrors." 

Pleasant  glanced  at  Alice,  and  saw  such  a  mischievous 
expression  on  her  face  that  he  looked  in  the  other  direc- 
tion as  quickly  as  possible,  and  began  biting  his  thin  lips, 
and  nervously  pushing  back  with  one  hand  the  long  black 
hair  which  fell  forward  on  his  shoulders. 

Colonel  Cliff  came  down,  magnificent  in  a  velvet  coat, 
and  was  prodigal  of  compliments  to  the  ladies.  A  vague 
sort  of  envy  arose  in  Pleasant's  breast.  He  looked  the 
Colonel  over  critically,  and  resolved  to  copy  from  him  such 
points  as  might  seem,  on  mature  reflection,  desirable.  He 
felt  a  trifle  humiliated  after  he  had  made  this  resolve,  but 
he  set  it  down  to  the  charge  of  the  Fate  which  was  now 
pushing  him  on  in  so  totally  unaccountable  a  manner. 


96  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

And  now  Caro  ceased  playing  the  "  Kiinstlerleben," 
and  they  all  went  in  to  breakfast. 

Mrs.  Merlin  stopped  pouring  the  coffee,  as  she  was  about 
to  fill  Pleasant's  cup,  and  looked  at  the  young  man,  who 
sat  next  to  her,  with  an  expression  of  motherly  solicitude. 

"  Your  coat  is  damp  —  almost  wet,  Mr.  Merrinott,"  she 
said.  "  You  ought  to  change  it.  You'll  catch  cold." 

"  I  have  no  other  with  me,"  he  said,  frankly  ;  "  I  didn't 
expect  to  remain  long  on  the  road  —  or —  or  to  present  my- 
self in  company,  when  I  started  from  Lucerne,  and  so  I  left 
my  baggage  there.  But  there  is  no  danger.  I  have  hunted 
for  a  whole  day  with  drenched  clothes  on.  I  am  a  savage 
—  as  Miss  Harrelston  thinks  we  all  are  in  my  country — in 
one  respect,  at  least;  I  am  storm-proof." 

Mrs.  Harrelston  looked  at  Alice  as  if  she  would  like  to 
know  what  her  daughter  had  been  saying,  but  the  daughter 
was  busily  engaged  in  conversation  with  Caro. 

"I  declare  to  goodness,"  said  Mrs.  Merlin,  "  I  begin  to 
feel  as  if  we  had  settled  down  here  for  ever.  But  it  won't 
do.  Caro  an'  I  must  go  back  to  Paris— to  our  work." 

"  And  I  must  go  to  mine,"  remarked  Pleasant,  in  a  low 
voice.  ' '  This  delightful  —  this  —  our  visit  here  makes  me 
forget  what  I  came  to  Europe  for." 

"  That's  right,"  said  Colonel  Cliff,  in  a  burst  of  friend- 
liness, which  he  could  not  explain.  "  Forget  it  for  a  little 
while.  It  will  do  your  soul  good." 

Pleasant  winced,  and  made  no  answer.  But  when  he 
was  in  his  room  alone  once  more,  after  breakfast,  he  took 
from  his  pocket  the  credentials  of  his  "  mission,"  the  paper 
beginning,  "  We,  the  undersigned,  residents  of  the  Indian 
Territory  and  Citizens  of  the  Cherokee  Nation,  hereby 
authorize  Pleasant  Merrinott,  Esq.,"  and  ending  with 
the  quaint  and  nearly  illegible  signatures  of  "  Cornelius 
Blaokfox,  Felix  Iledbird,  Arch  Sixkiller,  Hurry  Walkin- 
stick,"  etc.,  and  read  it  carefully  through. 


A  REPROOF  FOR  PLEASANT.  97 

"  No,"  he  said  ;  "  no,  I  will  not  forget  you  —  not  even 
for  a  little  while  —  my  poor,  abused,  threatened  country- 
men — -  not  for  a  minute  !  My  duty  is  first  of  all  to  you !  " 

And  for  an  instant  he  felt  as  if  he  had  succeeded  in 
backing  his  Fate  into  a  corner,  and  saying  courageously 
to  it,  "See  here!  What  do  you  mean  by  driving  me 
about  in  this  unceremonious  fashion!" 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE    GENTLE    SAVAGE   IS   AROUSED. 

IT  rained  steadily  for  three  days,  and  the  sweet  vale 
of  Meiringen  was  gloomy  and  desolate.  Pleasant  came 
and  went,  regardless  of  the  storms ;  but  the  ladies  com- 
plained of  headaches,  were  late  to  breakfast,  excused 
themselves  at  dinner,  and  Caro  had  a  slight  attack  of 
fever,  which  so  alarmed  her  mother  that  she  began  to 
prepare  for  returning  to  Paris  the  moment  that  the 
weather  would  permit. 

"  If  you  was  to  have  a  fit  of  sickness  here,  Caro,"  she 
said,  "  it  would  worry  me  into  my  grave,  an'  what  would 
you  do  without  your  mother?  I  won't  stay  here  a  minnit 
longer  'n  I'm  obliged  to." 

Colonel  Cliff  smoked  innumerable  cigars,  read  German 
novels  every  morning,  and  spent  his  afternoons  in  seek- 
ing opportunities  for  conversation  with  Alice.  The  girl 
seemed  ill  at  case,  and  the  Colonel  readily  saw  that  she 
was  preoccupied.  She  chatted  merrily  with  him,  but  it 
was  evident  that  she  was  thinking  of  something  which  she 
could  not  disclose  to  him.  Whenever  Pleasant  was  in 
her  company,  she  appeared  to  take  a  certain  pleasure  in 
making  the  gentle  savage  uncomfortable.  lie  had  grown 
more  than  usually  shy  since  his  unexpected  burst  of  con- 
lidence  on  the  morning  when  he  related  his  Grand  River 
98 


THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE  IS   AKOUSED.  99 

adventure  ;  and  he  now  avoided  any  allusion  to  the  Indian 
Territory  or  to  his  people  when  conversing  with  Alice  or 
the  Colonel.  Alice  was  almost  terrified  one  evening  at 
the  fierce  look  which  came  into  his  eyes  after  she  had 
made  some  mildly  satirical  remark.  She  trembled,  and 
reflected  that  this  youth  had  depths  of  passion  in  his  soul 
which  it  might  not  be  safe  to  fathom. 

Pleasant  saw  Alice  often  when  she  was  unaccompanied 
by  any  one  except  her  maid,  a  demure  little  Alsatian  girl, 
who  did  not  understand  a  word  of  English ;  but  he  took 
care  not  to  allude  to  the  adventure  in  the  canon.  It  was 
tacitly  understood  between  them  that  the  subject  was 
tabooed.  The  mere  thought  of  it  sent  the  hot  blood  into 
Alice's  cheeks,  and  in  Pleasant's  heart  it  awoke  a  sweet 
delirium  full  of  mingled  pain  and  pleasure.  Each  day 
he  resolved  that  he  would  go  away ;  each  day  his  self- 
appointed  mission  seemed  to  call  him  ;  and  each  day,  just 
as  he  was  ready  to  depart,  a  word,  a  look,  a  gesture  from 
Alice,  kept  him  near  her.  Even  when  she  stung  him  with 
the  shafts  of  her  delicate  feminine  wit,  he  felt  that  there 
was  a  secret  sympathy  between  them.  C&ro  watched 
them  now  and  then,  while  they  were  gossiping  in  the 
parlour  where  she  lay  on  the  sofa  wrapped  in  shawls,  and 
it  was  not  long  before  she  confided  to  her  mother,  as  an 
important  discovery,  the  fact  that  the  Indian  was  des- 
perately in  love  with  Alice. 

"  Pshaw  !  "  was  Mrs.  Merlin's  response.  "  The  Injun 
don't  know  small  wood  from  brush.  He  don't  know  his 
own  feelings.  He  is  dazed  —  kinder  mixed  up  like  — 
because  Alice  treats  him  civilly  —  but  that's  all !  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Caro.  "It's  a  case  of  love  at  first 
sight.  Why  did  he  come  back  here  to  Meiringen?  Be- 
cause he  had  seen  Alice  for  a  moment  at  Interlaken  — 
had  fallen  in  love  with  her,  and  had  determined  to  be 
near  her.  A  man  like  that  would  follow  a  woman  to  the 


100  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

end'  of  the  world.  And  I  really  believe  that  Alice  finds 
his  company  more  than  agreeable.  She'll  think  she  can't 
get  along  without  it,  unless  she's  care " 

"There  —  your  face  is  all  flushed  again,  Carol  You 
must  lay  still  and  not  talk.  I  never  see  such  a  disobedient 
girl  as  you  be.  Do  you  want  to  spile  your  future?  And 
suppose  them  two  young  folks  do  fall  in  love  with  each 
other,  how  does  that  concern  us,  I  should  like  to  know?  " 

"  Ma!  Surely  you  wouldn't  like  to  see  Miss  Harrelston 
in  love  with  an  Indian  !  Gracious  !  What  an  idea  !  " 

"Why  not?  He's  a  mighty  sight  more  manly  and 
interestin'  than  them  danglin'  Frenchmen  that  come 
mooniii'  around  American  girls  in  Paris.  And  for  ap- 
pearances !  Why,  he's  a  regular  statue !  " 

"  Yes,  a  bronze  statue,"  remarked  Caro. 

"  Well,  what  of  his  colour?  Is  that  anything  against 
him?" 

"  Why,  mother,"  concluded  Miss  Merlin,  "  you  defend 
Mr.  Merriuott  as  if  he  were  your  own  brother.  I  am  not 
finding  fault  with  him ;  but  I  think  that,  if  Alice  learns 
to  love  him,  she  is  providing  herself  with  a  nice  stock  of 
misery  for  future  use ;  that's  all.  He's  loyal  and  frank 
enough  now,  but  his  nature  is  full  of  passions  which  he 
does  not  try  to  control.  After  all,  he's  a  savage  !  " 

"  Caro,  you're  a  goose !  "  said  the  mother;  "  all  that 
you  say  is  perhaps  so,  but  Alice  can  take  care  of  herself : 
she's  one  of  the  wisest  girls  I  ever  see.  And  that's  just 
what  her  mother  thinks,  too." 

It  was  true  that  Mrs.  Harrelston  had  much  confidence 
in  her  daughter's  wisdom,  but  that  she  thought  it  best 
usually  to  supplement  it  with  a  certain  amount  of  maternal 
caution.  It  had  not  occurred  to  the  good  lady,  however, 
that  there  was  the  slightest  occasion  for  warning  Alice 
against  any  sudden  decision  in  favour  of  Pleasant  Merri- 
nott,  for  she  fancied  that  the  young  Cherokee  was  dis- 


THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE  IS  AROUSED.     101 

tasteful  to  her  daughter.  Mrs.  Harrelston  looked  upon 
Pleasant  as  a  curious  type,  whom  she  was  not  sorry  to 
study  for  a  time,  and  who  had  many  excellent  and  praise- 
worthy traits  ;  but  she  did  not  dream  that  either  she  or 
her  daughter  were  likely  to  give  him  a  passing  thought 
after  they  left  Meiringen.  She  had  listened  with  an 
amused  yet  languid  attention  to  the  stories  that  Colonel 
Cliff  had  told  her  of  Pleasant' s  youthful  escapades  in  the 
Territory,  but  they  had  made  no  especial  impression  upon 
her  mind.  The  Indian  would  pass  on  his  way,  and  she 
would  forget  him,  as  she  had  forgotten  dozens  of  odd  and 
interesting  people  before. 

On  the  evening  of  the  third  day  the  rain  ceased ;  the 
mists  were  swept  out  of  the  valley  by  a  strong  young  wind 
which  came  to  set  the  leaves  dancing  on  the  trees,  the 
long  grasses  mysteriously  waving  and  nodding,  and  the 
vines  on  the  trellises  trembling  as  if  they  already  dreaded 
the  approach  of  autumn.  The  sun  peeped  out.;  the  guides 
followed  his  example  ;  two  or  three  carriage  loads  of  trav- 
ellers came  in  from  Lucerne  ;  the  porches  of  the  inn  were 
encumbered  with  packages  of  ulsters,  blankets,  and  shawls, 
with  metal  bath-tubs,  packed  full  of  the  prudent  cockney's 
baggage,  with  Alpine  "stocks,"  and  canes  pointed  with 
steel  for  use  in  climbing  glaciers,  and  with  huge  boxes 
marked  "  Chicago,"  "  St.  Louis,"  and  "  St.  Paul."  Mei- 
ringen resumed  its  wonted  aspect,  and  the  landlord  of  the 
Reichenbach  recovered  his  temper.  In  the  morning  the 
vale  swam  in  floods  of  delicious  light ;  a  warm  breeze  had 
come  from  Italy,  and  was  visiting  every  nook  and  corner ; 
the  swollen  torrents  sang  loud  paeans  of  joy. 

Alice  spent  the  forenoon  on  the  balcony,  trying  to 
read  ;  but  on  each  page  of  the  book,  as  she  endeavoured 
to  fix  her  thoughts  upon  it,  appeared  a  picture  of  a  rustic 
portico,  in  the  mountains,  with  a  young  girl  seated  within 
it,  and  a  youth  kneeling  at  her  feet.  Mrs.  Merlin  came 


102  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

to  gossip  with  her,  but  Alice  felt  an  almost  irresistible 
desire  to  be  alone.  After  luncheon,  moved  by  a  sudden 
impulse,  she  called  her  maid,  and  said  — 

"  Bertine,  tell  mamma  that  I  am  going  to  walk,  and  will 
take  you  with  me ;  and  say  that  we  will  be  back  soon." 

The  maid  presently  returned  with  Mrs.  Harrelston's 
injunction  to  wear  thick  shoes,  and  not  to  go  far,  and  not 
to  be  gone  more  than  an  hour,  and  to  take  an  umbrella, 
and  to  come  to  her  as  soon  as  she  came  in.  Alice  dressed 
herself  in  a  gray  walking  suit,  a  dainty  little  hat,  which 
seemed  to  have  hovered  down  and  lighted  for  a  moment 
only  on  her  beautiful  tresses,  as  a  humming-bird  touches 
a  flower ;  and,  equipped  with  stout  English  walking  boots 
and  an  alpenstock,  she  set  out  merrily  for  the  village  of 
Meiringen,  followed  by  the  meek  and  diminutive  maid, 
who  was  somewhat  encumbered  with  umbrellas,  a  cloak, 
and  Alice's  camp-stool  and  sketch-book. 

Colonel  Cliff,  usually  so  vigilant,  did  not  see  them 
depart ;  Mrs.  Merlin  and  Caro  were  taking  a  nap ;  and 
Pleasant  had  not  been  seen  for  hours.  Alice  rejoiced  in 
her  freedom.  She  walked  briskly  through  the  quaint 
village,  where  the  wooden  houses,  with  their  immensely 
broad  sloping  roofs,  their  many  windows,  and  their  pious 
inscriptions,  seemed  distrustfully  to  eye  the  mountain 
which  cast  its  tremendous  shadow  upon  them,  and  to  be 
ready  to  edge  as  far  away  from  it  as  they  possibly  could 
at  a  moment's  notice.  The  treacherous  hills  have  often 
sent  down  torrents  of  mud  and  great  masses  of  stone 
upon  the  cottages  and  the  streets  ;  and  it  is  not  odd  that 
after  a  hard  rain  the  villagers  and  the  village  itself  have 
an  uneasy  and  apprehensive  look. 

Miss  Ilarrelston  found  nothing  in  the  village  which 
she  cared  to  sketch  except  an  old  dwarf,  who  scowled  at 
her  so  frightfully  when  she  asked  him  to  accord  her  the 
honour  of  a  sitting,  that  she  left  him,  and  made  her  way 


THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE  IS  AROTTSED.  108 

toward  the  Brunig  as  rapidly  as  she  could.  On  the 
mountain  road  she  found  the  enjoyment  which  she  had 
coveted.  She  rambled  on  so  fast  that  the  maid  could 
hardly  follow  her,  and  every  moss-bed  full  of  gleaming 
rain-drops,  every  quivering  leaf,  every  glimpse  of  the 
broad  expanse  of  valley  below,  with  its  silver  rift  of  river, 
every  green  hill-side  on  which  a  brown-faced  mower  was 
at  work  mowing  where  any  one  but  a  Swiss  would  have 
fallen  headlong  upon  the  scythe  and  cut  his  own  throat, 
filled  her  with  delight.  When  she  had  reached  a  point 
where  the  road,  which  winds  along  the  flanks  of  the 
Brunig,  made  a  sharp  turn  to  the  right,  leaving  on  its 
left  a  path  of  pine  forest,  clothing  a  pinnacle  which  stood 
out  above  the  valley  and  at  a  noble  height,  she  stopped, 
and  waited  for  Bertine  to  come  up. 

"  We  will  rest  here  in  the  woods,  Bertine,"  she  said. 
"  I  will  make  some  studies  of  these  tree-trunks,  with  the 
effects  of  light  and  shade  on  them  and  on  this  mossy  bank." 

They  went  into  the  bit  of  forest,  and  after  telling 
Bertine  where  to  place  the  camp-stool,  and  to  open  the" 
sketch-book,  Alice  strolled  forward  to  the  edge  of  the 
pinnacle,  curious  to  look  out  over  the  vast  gulf  between 
the  Brunig  and  the  massive  line  of  hills  on  the  other  side. 
There  was  a  hollow  in  the  rock  just  below  where  she 
stood  —  a  hollow  upon  which  the  sunlight  fell  —  and  she 
was  about  to  ask  the  maid  to  bring  the  stool  and  sketch- 
book there,  when  she  saw  something  which  made  her 
utter  a  faint  cry  of  surprise  and  start  back  hastily,  with 
deep  blushes  crimsoning  her  face. 

Pleasant  Merrinott  was  seated  in  the  hollow,  on  a  cosy 
stone,  which  seemed  to  have  been  fashioned  expressly  for 
a  seat.  A  bundle  of  letters  and  papers  lay  beside  him, 
and  he  was  intently  reading  a  journal. 

' '  How  vexatious  ! ' '  said  Alice  to  herself.  ' '  We  are 
certain  to  meet  even  in  the  most  improbable  places.  Ber- 


104  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

tine  must  pack  up  the  things,  and  we  will  find  another 
place  to  sketch." 

She  had  turned  to  retire  when  she  heard  a  loud  cry, 
and  then  a  torrent  of  passionate  invective  in  a  language 
which  she  did  not  understand,  but  which  she  instantly 
suspected  must  be  Cherokee.  Her  first  inclination  was 
to  laugh  at  this  outburst  of  savage  wrath  in  an  unknown 
and  probably  a  barbarous  tongue,  so  incongruous  with 
the  idyllic  beauty  of  the  scene.  But  then  came  an  im- 
pression of  fear,  for  the  voice  deepened,  and  she  knew 
that  the  words  which  it  uttered  were  full  of  hatred  and 
menace.  The  maid  came  to  listen,  and  looked  around 
timorously. 

"Does  not  Mademoiselle  think,"  she  said,  in  the  ex- 
tremely bad  French  which  she  had  taken  pride  in  speaking 
since  the  war  between  Germany  and  France  had  occurred, 
and  her  parents  had  chosen  to  remain  French  citizens  — 
"  does  not  Mademoiselle  think  that  we  would  be  safer  in 
the  highway  ? ' ' 

Mademoiselle  did  not  know  exactly  what  she  thought, 
and  had  she  known,  she  would  not  have  been  able  to  ex- 
press it,  for  she  stepped  back  in  much  confusion  as  a  twig 
crackled,  and  Pleasant,  his  hands  filled  with  letters  and 
papers,  and  his  face  clouded  with  wrath,  sprang  up  out  of 
the  hollow,  and  under  a  tree  directly  in  front  of  the  girl. 
For  a  moment  he  did  not  see  her,  he  was  so  occupied  with 
his  own  thoughts ;  but  the  maid  gave  a  discreet  scream, 
and  he  looked  up. 

"  You  here,  Miss  Harrelston?  "  he  said.  "  Oh  !  I  had 
no  idea  that  any  one  was  near.  But  I  am  glad  you  are 
here.  I  know  that  you  will  sympathize  with  me  ;  I  know 
3'ou  will  feel  the  indignation  that  I  feel." 

His  lips  trembled,  his  eyes  sparkled,  and  there  was  such 
vehemence  in  his  gestures,  as  he  brandished  the  papers 
and  letters  which  he  had  that  morning  received  from 


THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE  IS   AROUSED.  105 

Lucerne,  that  the  maid  shrank  behind  the  mistress .  and 
pulled  at  her  robe,  as  if  to  admonish  her  to  come  away  at 
once  unless  she  wished  to  be  killed  and  eaten.  Bertine 
had  learned  that  Pleasant  was  an  Indian,  and  therefore 
considered  this  fit  of  rage  as  preliminary  to  a  scene  of 
carnage.  She  trembled  violently,  and  wished  that  she 
were  back  in  Saverne,  even  though  the  Prussians  were 
there. 

"  Yes,"  said  Alice  feebly.  "  I  am  here.  I  came  out  to 
sketch.  I — we  —  clidn ' t  know  that  you  were  here  —  and  — 
and  —  the  noise  frightened  us.  Was  that  your  voice  that 
we  heard  a  moment  ago  —  all  those  outcries — you  know?" 

"  Certainly.  Outcries,  Miss  Harrelston?  Let  me 
explain ' ' 

"What  language  were  they  in  ?  "  She  had  now  recovered 
her  courage,  and  a  faint  smile  flitted  over  her  face. 

"I  —  I  suppose  I  must  have  been  talking  Cherokee," 
answered  Pleasant. 

"It's  a  very  —  very  rough  language,  isn't  it?  Well 
adapted  to  the  expression  of  anger,  I  should  think." 

"  No,"  he  answered,  sharply.  "  On  the  contrary,  it  is 
musical  —  right  musical.  I  am  sorry  that  it  frightened  you. 
But  listen  for  a  moment,  Miss  Harrelston.  I  know  that 
you  will  sympathize  with  me.  Here  is  an  infamy  —  well, 
read  for  yourself .  This  is  what  aroused  my  anger."  He 
thrust  some  of  the  letters  and  journals  into  his  coat 
pocket,  and  strode  up  to  her  side  with  two  newspapers 
open  in  his  hand.  "Look!  More  treachery  —  more 
meanness  —  more  vindictive  pursuit  of  the  Indian  by  the 
white  man  !  Do  you  wonder  that  I  am  angry  ?  Do  you 
wonder  that  I  am  in  a  rage  to  think  that  I  am  more  than 
four  thousand  miles  away  !  Read  !  " 

There  was  the  ring  of  command  in  his  last  word.  Alice 
took  one  of  the  papers  and  read  the  paragraph  which  he 
had  designated.  It  was  a  telegraphic  despatch  from  Par- 


106  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

sons,  Kansas,  announcing  that  a  second  attempt  to  invade 
the  Indian  Territory,  as  the  Black  Hills  had  been  invaded, 
was. in  progress.  Three  or  four  hundred  determined  white 
men  from  Missouri  and  adjacent  States,  united  with  some 
stout  settlers  from  Iowa,  contemplated  squatting  on  the 
lands  in  the  northern  section  of  the  Territory.  The 
Government  troops  had  been  ordered  to  prevent  the  ad- 
venturers from  entering,  but  they  probably  would  find  it 
inconvenient  to  interfere.  It  was  time  that  the  rich  lands 
of  the  Territory  should  be  opened  to  improvement  by  white 
men.  The  action  of  these  ' '  squatters ' '  would  doubtless  be 
followed  by  a  general  movement  for  the  assimilation  of  the 
Indian  country  to  those  sections  of  the  United  States  that 
bordered  upon  it.  Men  and  arms  could  be  had  to  bring 
the  Indians,  who  were  useless  dogs  in  mangers,  to.  reason. 
And  much  more  of  the  same  sort,  related  in  the  elaborately 
sensational  style  peculiar  to  the  telegraphic' correspondence 
of  newspapers. 

"And  here  is  the  other!  Read  the  other  and  later 
account!"  he  cried,  putting  the  second  paper  into  her 
hands.  "  Sixty  of  the  men  have  crossed  the  frontier  of 
the  Indian  Territory.  Two  hundred  more  are  expected  to 
follow  at  once  !  Read  !  " 

Bertine,  observing  that  her  mistress  was  not  tomahawked 
and  thrown  over  the  precipice,  plucked  up  heart,  and 
peered  around,  over  Alice's  arm,  at  the  nervous  and 
excited  Indian. 

"What  does  it  all  mean?"  said  Alice,  when  she  had 
finished  reading.  "Of  course  I  partly  understand  —  but 
—  not  —  you  see,  I  have  never  been  in  America,  and " 

"What  does  it  mean?"  answered  the  Indian,  taking 
back  the  papers  and  crushing  them  in  his  right  hand. 
"Mean?  It  means  that  the  Government  of  the  United 
States  is  a  cowardly  and  lying  Government,  incompetent 
and  unwilling  to  keep  its  promises  ;  ready  to  see  its  most 


THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE   IS   AEOUSED.  107 

sacred  treaties  trodden  under  foot  at  a  moment's  notice  ! 
It  means  that  after  having  driven  our  people  from  their 
homes  in  the  South,  where  they  were  happy  and  pros- 
perous, that  accursed  Government  now  proposes  to  drive 
us  from  the  lands  which  were  deeded  to  us,  by  solemn 
treaty,  as  a  refuge  —  as  our  own  for  ever  and  for  ever  — 
given  to  us  as  some  slight  compensation  for  all  that  had 
been  taken  from  us !  Mean  ?  It  means  that  the  white 
man  will  not  be  satisfied  until  he  has  driven  us  into  the 
Pacific  Ocean,  and  .that  the  time  has  come  to  make  a 
stand  against  him,  even  if  we  have  to  renew  those  wars 
in  which  —  history  will  tell  you — we  have  not  always  come 
off  second  best !  " 

"But  I  never  heard  of  all  this,"  stammered  Alice. 
"Is  it  possible  that  such  an  injustice  can  have  been  com- 
mitted, and  no  outcry  made  about  it?  " 

Pleasant  smiled  as  Alice  looked  up  at  him  with  real 
perplexity  on  her  face. 

"No,"  he  said,  more  gently  than  she  would  have 
thought  possible  after  his  indignation.  "  No,  you  never 
heard  of  it ;  or  if  you  have  now  and  then  heard  it  men- 
tioned, it  has  not  been  considered  of  sufficient  importance 
by  those  who  spoke  of  it  to  command  their  attention  or 
yours  for  more  than  a  moment.  There  are  plenty  of 
people  in  the  United  States  who  have  never  given  any 
thought  to  this  injustice.  But  they  have  worried  their 
brains  a  great  deal  over  Poland  and  Ireland,  and  the 
Servians  and  the  Bulgarians."  A  moment  later  he  added, 
"Perhaps  the  Indians  have  been  overlooked  because  they 
have  never  had  any  really  great  advocate  of  their  own 
race  to  urge  their  claims  and  to  expose  their  wrongs. 
But  now  it  is  too  late  to  reason.  Unless  they  make  a  bold 
stand  they  will  be  crushed  ;  they  will  be  whirled  away  as 
these  sprays  of  pine  here  at  our  feet  will  be  scattered 
before  the  autumn  wind." 


108  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

"  And  what  do  you  mean  to  do,  Mr.  Merrinott?  " 

"  I  am  going  home  —  home  at  once.  My  duty  lies  on 
the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic  now,  and  1^  must  get  there 
as  soon  as  I  can." 

"  Home  at  once,  Mr.  Merrinott?  I  thought  papa  —  or 
was  it  Colonel  Cliff  —  said  that  you  had  but  just  arrived 
in  Europe." 

"  That  is  true.     But  I  must  go  —  to-morrow." 

"Must  you?" 

The  young  Indian  looked  at  Alice  in  surprise.  There 
was  a  tone  in  her  voice  which  he  had  never  noticed  before. 
It  was  full  of  regret  —  of  longing.  Alice  was  gazing  in- 
tently at  a  mossy  stone  at  her  feet. 

"  Now,"  thought  Pleasant,  "  is  the  time  to  tell  her  that 
I  love  her  —  loved  her  the  first  tune  that  I  saw  her,  and 
shall  love  her  for  ever.  But  I  dare  not." 

"I  sec  that  you  are  an  enthusiast,  Mr.  Merrinott," 
Alice  said  after  a  long  silence. 

"  I  reckon  I  am,"  responded  the  Indian.  "  I  am  ter- 
ribly in  earnest  about  this  question  of  territory.  But  I 
am  sorry  to  have  troubled  you  with  it.  I  know  that  at 
times  my  earnestness  makes  me  ridiculous."  He  was 
quite  sincere  in  saying  this,  for  he  was  morbidly  self- 
conscious.  "  Let  us  forget  it  for  the  present,"  he  said. 
"Ah,  you  were  going  to  make  some  sketches,  and  I  am 
keeping  yon  from  much  pleasanter  occupation  than  a  dis- 
cussion on  frontier  politics." 

"  No.  The  sketching  is  of  no  consequence.  But  I 
should  like  to  understand  this  whole  question  —  this  in- 
justice to  the  Indians  —  a  great  deal  better." 

"Then  it  really  interests  you?"  said  Pleasant.  And 
his  face  was  quite  radiant. 


CHAPTER  X. 

A   PROMISE. 

THERE  is  nothing  so  inspiring  as  genuine  sympathy,  and 
Pleasant  found  this  eminently  true  in  his  case.  He  began 
to  talk  to  Alice  on  his  favourite  subject  with  diffidence 
and  with  awkwardness  ;  but  presently  he  saw  that  she  was 
deeply  interested,  and  then  he  grew  eloquent.  Alice  sat 
down  on  the  camp-stool,  opened  her  book,  and  pretended 
to  be  engaged  in  the  reproduction  of  a  tuft  of  moss  not 
far  away ;  but  in  reality  she  could  not  sketch.  The 
young  Indian's  voice,  his  large,  quick,  and  energetic 
gestures,  and  his  tremendous  sincerity  exercised  a  strange 
charm  over  her.  Once  or  twice  she  blushed  as  she  ob- 
served that  Bertine's  eyes  were  fixed  on  her  with  grave 
and  almost  reproachful  surprise ;  for  she  knew  that  the 
maid  considered  it  highly  improper  for  Miss  Harrelston 
to  engage  in  this  woodland  t£te-a-t£te  with  a  young  man 
whom  she  had  known  but  a  few  days.  But  the  narrative 
into  which  Pleasant  had  plunged  was  so  logical  and  clear, 
so  filled  with  dramatic  incidents,  that  Alice  could  not 
have  moved  from  the  spot  had  she  wished  to  do  so.  She 
glanced  up  at  the  young  man  occasionally,  and  the  manly 
figure  standing  erect  before  her,  the  dark  glowing  face, 
and  the  flashing  eyes,  pleased  her.  She  did  not  attempt 
to  deny  this  to  herself ;  still,  she  felt  it  her  duty  once  or 

109 


110  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

twice  to  utter  a  sarcastic  comment,  which  made  Pleasant 
bite  his  lips,  and  restrain  his  enthusiasm  for  a  minute 
or  two. 

An  hour  had  passed  unperceived  when  he  finished  his 
recital  with  a  graphic  description  of  the  injustice  which 
had  culminated  in  the  removal  of  the  remnants  of  the 
Creek,  Cherokee,  Chickasaw,  and  other  tribes  of  Indians 
from  their  Southern  homes  to  the  great  territory  which 
they  now  occupy  west  of  the  Mississippi.  He  drew  a 
long  breath,  stepped  back  a  few  paces,  and  glanced  rather 
timidly  at  Alice,  as  if  fearful  that  she  might  have  been 
laughing  at  him.  Then  he  said  — 

"That's  all,  Miss  Harrelston.  You  asked  me  to  tell 
you,  or  I  should  not  have  thought  of  taking  your  atten- 
tion from  your  sketching  for  such  a  time.  But  it's  a 
right  long  story." 

"  And  a  very  sad  one,"  said  Alice.  "  Are  you  certain 
that  you  do  not  exaggerate  some  of  the  details,  Mr. 
Merriuott  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  you  have  made  the  white 
man  appear  like  a  rogue." 

"When  I  was  at  college,"  remarked  the  Indian,  "I 
read  Chateaubriand's  'Journey  in  America.'  Chateau- 
briand says  that  he  met  an  old  Iroquois  chief,  who  told 
him  that  the  white  men  would  never  be  satisfied  until 
they  had  possession  of  all  the  land,  and  that  they  would 
not  leave  the  last  of  the  Indians  enough  earth  to  cover 
their  bones.  That  was  in  1791.  The  Iroquois's  prophecy 
bids  fair  to  be  fulfilled." 

"  Let  us  hope  not.  Surely  some  way  out  of  the  diffi- 
culty can  be  found.  You  must  not  give  way  to  despair." 

"  Ah  !  the  saddest  feature  of  our  decay  is  that  we  are 
somewhat  divided  against  ourselves.  That's  the  reason 
that  a  man  of  action  is  needed  in  the  Nation  now."  His 
eyes  sparkled,  and  he  stretched  out  his  right  arm  as  if  he 
held  a  weapon,  and  were  about  to  lead  an  attack.  "At 


A  PROMISE.  Ill 

the  beginning  of  this  century,  Miss  Harrelston,  when  our 
tribes  lived  in  the  beautiful  lands  in  Georgia  and  Alabama 
and  Tennessee,  the  Creeks  condemned  to  death  and  exe- 
cuted one  of  their  chiefs  who-  had  dared  to  sell  land  to 
the  white  men  without  having  received  permission  from 
the  Council  of  the  Nation.  But  the  old  spirit  is  gone 
now,  and  I  suppose  I  must  confess  that  traitors  are  not 
only  allowed  to  live  in  our  midst,  but  to  speak  their  minds 
boldly." 

"  You  are  thinking  of  the  Bluelots  now,"  said  Alice, 
with  a  gentle  accent  of  reproach  in  her  voice.  "  Of  those 
dreadful  people  —  you  remember  —  one  of  whom  threw 
you  into  the  Grand  River." 

"If  our  people  were  the  men  that  their  fathers  were, 
the  Bluelots  would  give  us  no  more  trouble.  The 
traitors  would  be  hanged  to  the  first  convenient  trees.  I 
reckon.  They  deserve  death  for  being  willing  to  give  up 
our  lands,  or  to  admit  white  people  to  settle  upon  them ; 
for  land  is  power  everywhere,  at  all  times.  Give  up  the 
land,  and  he  who  takes  it  becomes  your  master.  We  hold 
our  lands  in  common  as  a  safeguard ;  for  we  know  that 
the  moment  they  can  be  divided,  and  bought  and  sold  by 
white  men,  the  acres  will  slip  from  under  the  feet  of  the 
Indian,  and  we  shall  be  homeless  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 
Bah  !  when  I  think  that  such  injustices  can  be  consum- 
mated —  it  makes  me  feel  that  the  world  is  all  wrong,  and 
that  the  whole  order  of  society  ought  to  be  destroyed,  so 
that  men  can  begin  over  again,  and  build  better  the  second 
time!" 

Alice  smiled,  for  she  remembered  the  account  which  her 
father  had  given  of  Pleasant's  ill-humour  with  the  world, 
as  manifested  in  the  garden  of  the  Kursaal  at  Interlaken 
the  first  time  that  he  had  seen  him.  She  closed  her 
sketch-book,  folded  her  hands  in  her  lap,  and  looked  up 
at  the  Indian. 


112  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

"  Don't  you  think  that  you  are  in  danger  of  doing  the 
world  injustice?"  she  said.  "Because  you  are  suffering 
from  a  sense  of  wrong  is  it  right  to  accuse  the  universe 
in  that  grand  general  fashion?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  all  means,"  he  said  faintly,  as 
if  the  problem  lay  heavily  upon  him  and  crushed  his 
strength  out.  "  I  cannot  see  why  one  race  should  slowly 
exterminate  another :  why  a  civilization  that  is  barbarous 
enough  —  Heaven  knows  —  should  be  allowed  to  dictate 
terms  to  people  whom  it  chooses  to  consider  barbarians, 
and  why  plighted  faith  should  not  be  kept  when  pledged 
to  a  red  man  by  a  white  man.  It  appears  to  me  that  the 
tendency  of  what  people  are  pleased  to  term  modern 
civilization  is  to  assume  that  white  human  beings  are 
ordained  by  fate  to  be  the  eaters,  and  that  the  black  and 
yellow  and  red  races  are  to  be  the  eaten." 

Miss  Harrelston  did  not  feel  prepared  to  follow  Pleasant 
into  the  intricate  mazes  of  an  ethnological  argument.  She 
was  thinking  of  the  Bluelots,  and  of  the  savage  feud 
between  Bluelots  and  Merrinotts.  A  little  picture  of  a 
young  man  lying  dead  with  a  pistol  wound  in  his  side  — 
his  long  black  hair  streaming  over  the  flower-besprinkled 
sward  of  a  prairie  —  and  his  enemies  striding  quietly  and 
sternly  away  from  the  scene  of  their  crime,  flitted  before 
her  eyes. 

"You  are  divided  against  yourselves,  as  you  say,  Mr. 
Merrinott.  How  can  that  be  remedied,  except  by  dis- 
cussion, and  by  persuasion?  Surely  that  is  better  than 
fighting.  Oh !  I  am  afraid  that  you  are  going  home  to 
renew  the  feud  of  which  you  have  told  us  so  much !  " 

Pleasant  looked  down  at  the  mosses  and  the  pine 
sprays.  Alice  had  divined  his  secret  thought.  He  longed 
to  be  at  home  that  he  might  checkmate  the  Bluelots  — 
exterminate  them  —  if  necessary. 

"You  know  my  sentiments  about  those  people,  Miss 


A  PROMISE.  113 

Harrelston,"  he  said,  doggedly.  "It's  no  use  repeating 
them  to  you,  for  I  reckon  that  you  do  not  approve  of 
them." 

Alice  was  silent.  She  had  determined  to  exact  a 
promise  from  Pleasant  Merrinott  before  he  left  her  that 
afternoon,  but  she  was  sorely  perplexed  as  to  the  manner 
of  approaching  the  subject. 

The  sunlight  poured  in  through  a  cleft  in  the  pines, 
and  Alice's  fair  young  head  was  transfigured  by  the 
radiance.  Pleasant  looked  so  earnestly  at  her  that  she 
felt  uneasy,  and  arose.  Bertine  started  forward  to  shut  up 
the  camp-stool  and  take  the  sketch-book ;  and  now  that 
Miss  Harrelston  prepared  to  depart,  Pleasant  suddenly 
remembered  that  this  was  the  last  day  that  he  should  see 
her,  and  that  he  had  decided  to  tell  her  of  his  love.  But 
while  the  very  words  of  confession  were  at  his  lips,  he 
was  rendered  speechless  by  the  doubt  which  arose  — 
gigantic,  shadowy  —  in  his  mind,  as  to  his  right  to  speak 
of  his  affection.  The  news  which  he  had  received  from 
the  Territory  had  revived  all  his  passion  for  his  race,  his 
prejudices,  his  Indian  pride.  He  was  called  anew  to  enter 
upon  the  active  duties  of  his  mission.  Was  this  the 
moment  in  which  to  tell  a  woman  of  the  white  race  that  he 
loved  her  deeply,  irrevocably,  passionately  ;  that  in  the  few 
days  since  he  had  first  seen  her,  she  had  usurped  complete 
control  over  his  being  ;  that  her  image  was  before  him  day 
and  night ;  and  that,  in  short,  she  epitomized  the  universe 
for  him?  Was  it  not  rather  his  duty  to  tear  his  love  for 
her  out  of  his  heart ;  to  fly  from  the  enchantment  to  which 
he  had  been  subjected  from  the  first  moment  of  his  meet- 
ing with  Alice  ?  He  was  amazed  at  his  sudden  change  of 
front.  He  suddenly  became  as  resolved  not  to  tell  her 
of  his  love  as  he  had  been,  twenty-four  hours  before,  that 
she  should  know  it.  She  noticed  the  change  in  his  face, 
and  fancied  that  she  had  offended  him. 


114  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  mind  my  silly  comments  on  your 
affairs,"  she  said.  "  I  presume  I  say  just  what  I  should 
not  say  if  I  had  had  better  opportunities  for  studying  the 
situation  of  your  people." 

"  I  fear  I  have  done  something  wrong,  Miss  Harrelston," 
said  Pleasant.  "  Your  little  servant  is  looking  at  me  with 
very  angry  eyes.  Have  I  been  improper  hi  any  way? 
You  must  remember  that  I  am  a  savage." 

' '  Bertine  probably  remembers  mamma's  command  to 
me  to  return  in  an  hour.  I  have  been  much  interested  in 
all  that  you  have  said,  and  much  saddened  by  some  of  it. 
Let  us  walk  down  the  hill." 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  smile  which  made  his 
heart  beat  fast.  For  the  moment  he  cursed  his  mission, 
and  felt  like  falling  on  his  knees  at  her  side  and  crying, 
"  I  love  you,  I  love  you  !  "  But  Alice  continued  in  a  low 
voice  — 

"  Mr.  Merriuott,  you  have  told  us  —  told  me,  especially 

—  so  much  about  your  wild  life,  and  the  dangers  that  are 
in  it,  that  you  cannot  blame  me  for  taking  an  interest  in  it. 
I  want  to  ask  you  —  and  I  hope  you  will  not  be  offended 

—  to  promise  me  before  }'ou  return  to  your  home " 

Alice  blushed,  and  was  more  confused  than  she  had 

expected  to  be,  because  the  gentle  savage  stopped  short, 
looked  at  her  earnestly  with  his  great  coal-black  eyes, 
and  said  — 

"Go  on,  Miss  Harrelstou  :  I  will  promise  you  anything ; 
I  can  refuse  you  nothing." 

—  "Before  you  return  to  your  home,  that  whatever 
•happens,  no  matter  how  strange  or  disagreeable  the  cir- 
cumstances may  be,  you  will  absolutely  withdraw  from 
the  feud  with  the  —  the  Bluclots  — 

' '  Miss  Harrelston  !  ' ' 

The  voice  was  loud  and  angry.  Alice  trembled  a  little, 
but  she  went  on. 


A   PROMISE.  115 

"But  you  gave  me  your  promise,  Mr.  Merrinott.  Will 
you  not  keep  it?  That  whatever  may  happen,  you  will 
withdraw  from  the  feud  with  the  Bluelots,  and  that  you 
will  never  take  a  deadly  weapon  in  your  hands " 

"  Stop,  Miss  Harrelston,  please,"  he  said,  hoarsely; 
"  I  couldn't  promise  you  that.  I  didn't  dream  that  you 
intended  —  it  would  be  impossible!  Why,  the  Bluelots 
killed  my  brother  !  The  Bluelots  would  sell  their  country 
for  a  handful  of  money  !  The  Bluelots  would  call  me  a 
coward,  and  kill  me  like  a  dog,  and  be  glad  to  have  me  out 
of  the  way,  if  they  knew  that  I  went  about  the  Nation 
unarmed!  No,  no,  Miss  Harrelston,  don't  ask  me  that! 
There's  nothing  else  that  I  will  not  do  for  you  —  for  you, 
but  don't  ask  me  to  promise  that !  " 

Alice  was  grieved,  and  Pleasant  read  her  grief  in  her 
face ! 

"You  don't  know  what  one  of  those  long  feuds  is,"  he 
said.  "  It  was  wicked  even  to  let  you  know  that  such 
things  exist.  I  have  given  you  pain,  and  I  am  right 
sorry." 

"  But,  Mr.  Merrinott,  you  have  no  privilege  to  take 
vengeance  into  your  own  hands.  You  can  use  legal 
means  to  punish  the  Bluelots  ;  but  you  ought  not  to  fight 
with  them ;  it  is  degrading.  You  are  right  to  drive  out 
the  invaders  of  your  land  if  you  can  ;  but  to  perpetuate  a 
personal,  a  family  feud,  seems  to  me " 

"Contemptible!  Perhaps  you  might  have  used  a 
harsher  word,  Miss  Harrelston.  But  remember  that  this 
feud  is  not  of  my  creating.  It  is  a  legacy,  as  I  said  the 
other  day." 

"  Then  promise  me  this,  Mr.  Merriuott,"  said  the  girl, 
impetuously.  "  You  are  going  back  across  the  ocean  to 
do  a  grand  and  noble  thing  —  to  do  all  that  you  can  for  the 
protection  of  your  race,  and  that  is  honourable  and  inspir- 
ing. But  don't  sully  it  with  murder  —  don't  condescend  to 


116  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

personal  vengeance.  When  I  think  that  you  might  become 
a — a  murderer,  it  fills  me  with  horror!  Promise  me 
that,  whatever  happens,  you  will  do  nothing  to  prolong  the 
feud  with  the  Bluelots,  and  that  if  you  are  brought  into 
contact  with  them  you  will  —  will  never  use  a  weapon,  un- 
less it  is  entirely  in  self-defence.  Can — you  —  promise?  " 

Pleasant's  pride  was  touched,  although  he  admired  and 
loved  the  girl  more  and  more  at  each  moment.  His  black 
look  returned. 

"Murder  is  a  hard  word,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  think  you 
would  have  any  right  to  call  me  a  murderer  if  I  shot  every 
Bluelot  that  is  left  in  the  world.  Each  of  the  scoundrels 
has  forfeited  his  life.  Still,  I  reckon  I  will  make  the 
promise  like  you  worded  it  the  last  time.  Yes,  I  reckon 
you  may  count  on  me  for  that.  I'm  right  sorry  I  couldn't 
promise  you  the  balance  of  what  you  asked.  I  did  not 
believe  until  you  spoke  that  there  was  anything  in  the 
world  that  I  would  not  do  for  you.  Why,  Miss  Harrelston 
— you  don't  know  how  much " 

The  girl  had  paused  in  her  walk,  but  now  she  moved 
on  again,  and  so  fast  that  Pleasant,  in  his  hurry  to  keep 
up,  forgot  exactly  what  he  was  going  to  say.  He  noticed 
that  his  heart  beat  so  loudly  that  he  could  hear  it,  and 
fancied  that  she  must  be  amused  at  his  agitation.  They 
left  the  little  patch  of  forest,  and  came  into  the  road, 
Bertine  flitting  on  ahead,  with  her  arms  full  and  groaning 
under  her  burden,  but  looking  back  distrustfully  at  the 
earnest  pair  from  time  to  time.  Bertine  was  thoroughly 
perplexed.  The  Indian  startled  and  annoyed  her.  She  was 
jealous  of  the  impression  which  he  appeared  to  have  pro- 
duced upon  her  mistress,  and  had  she  been  able  to  speak 
English,  would,  perhaps,  have  found  means  to  tell  him  so. 

By-and-by  they  came  to  a  turn  in  the  road  where  they 
could  look  down  into  the  vale  of  Meiringen.  Pleasant 
stopped  resolutely,  and  said  — 


A  PROMISE.  117 

"Good-bye,  Miss  Harrelston.  I  am  going  away  to- 
night ;  but  before  I  go  I  want  to  get  into  the  mountains 
alone  and  think  over  what  I  ought  to  do.  You  —  you  have 
given  me  a  right  smart  deal  to  think  about.  You  revolu- 
tionize me.  I  —  I  believe  I  shall  be  a  better  man  for  hav- 
ing met  you.  You  are  the  first  person  who  ever  really 
sympathized  with  me."  He  stopped,  confused  at  his  own 
frankness  ;  but,  recovering  himself ,  he  added,  "  After  all, 
I  cannot  see  why  you  should  be  so  anxious  to  save  my 
life.  It  isn't  worth  saving." 

O  indiscreet  Indian  !  Had  Alice  Harrelston  been  more 
worldly-minded,  how  would  she  have  made  you  suffer  for 
that  awkward  remark  !  But  Alice  said,  softly  — 

' '  Did  you  not  save  my  life  —  the  other  day  ?  You 
would  not  like  to  think  that  I  am  ungrateful  —  would 
you?" 

"Angel!"  thought  Pleasant:  "how  quickly,  if  I 
dared,  would  I  go  down  on  my  knees  before  you  and 
confess  all !  But  I  dare  not." 

"Ungrateful?"  he  stammered.  "I  —  I  did  nothing. 
You  —  had  fainted  —  and  —  I  hope  you  will  forgive  me  ; 
but  I  could  not  leave  you  there,  and  so  I  took  you  up  and 
brought  you  out  into  the  daylight." 

How  lovely  was  the  faint  flush  upon  the  girl's  cheeks  ! 
It  reminded  him  of  the  exquisite  roseate  glow  which  he 
had  noted  on  the  snowy  brow  of  the  Jungfrau.  Oh  !  if  he 
might  speak !  But  his  mission  !  his  duty  !  his  race  !  his 
country !  No !  he  would  not  speak  —  he  would  not  see 
her  again ! 

"Good-bye." 

He  held  out  his  hand.  She  gave  him  hers  frankly  and 
cordially. 

"  I  am  sure  we  shall  hear  good  news  of  you  some  day, 
Mr.  Merrinott.  Perhaps  you  will  lead  your  people  —  help 
them  —  save  them  —  who  knows  ?  You  will  not  leave 


118  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

Meiringen  without  saying  a  word  of  parting  to  mamma 
and  the  other  friends  at  the  hotel?  " 

"  Certainly  not.  How  stupid  I  am !  Then  I  shall  see 
you  there  again  before  I  go." 

"  Perhaps.  But  if  not,  remember  your  promise.  And 
—  good-bye  for  the " 

"Present,"  she  intended  to  say,  but  Pleasant  had 
vanished  from  her  side,  and  Bertine  was  gazing  in  round- 
eyed  amazement  at  the  steep  pathway  up  which  he  had 
sprung  with  the  ease  and  agility  of  a  deer. 

"  You  must  not  mention  this  to  mamma,  Bertine,"  said 
Alice,  as  they  hastened  homeward.  "  That  young  man  is 
very  strange.  He  is  an  Indian  who  has  some  vexatious 
business  with  papa,  and  he  has  insisted  on  telling  me  all 
about  it.  Perhaps  he  thinks  I  can  persuade  papa  to  help 
him." 

"  Very  well,  miss,  I  understand,  perfectly,"  said  Ber- 
tiue ;  and  she  did  at  last  understand,  much  better  than 
either  Alice  or  Pleasant  understood  themselves. 

Alice  did  not  come  down  to  dinner  that  evening.  She 
had  a  headache,  and  stayed  in  her  room,  retiring  to  rest 
very  early.  At  nine  o'clock  her  mother  came  into  her 
room,  and  surprised  her  daughter  with  her  beautiful  head 
buried  in  the  pillows,  and  sobbing  as  if  her  heart  would 
break. 

"  Why,  little  Alice,"  she  said,  "  what  does  this  mean? 
Are  you  very  ill?  " 

"  It's  only  my  head.  You  know,  petite  maman,  I  must 
have  my  cry  out  when  my  head  aches.  I  shall  be  well 
to-morrow.  Don't  worry.  And  please  don't  light  the 
lamps." 

Mrs.  Ilarrelston  had  come  to  tell  her  daughter  that 
"  that  eccentric  Mr.  Merrinott  had  suddenly  decided  to  go 
away,  and  had  just  ordered  a  carriage."  But  she  reflected 
for  a  minute,  and  concluded  to  say  nothing  about  it.  She 


A   PROMISE.  119 

knew  that  there  was  no  remedy  for  Alice's  headaches,  so 
she  sat  down  by  the  bedside  to  watch  with  the  girl  until 
she  had  sobbed  herself  to  sleep. 

Pleasant  drove  all  the  way  to  Interlaken  that  night, 
and  displayed  so  much  bad  temper  on  the  way  that  the 
mild-mannered  coachman  almost  carried  him  over  a  bluff 
in  the  heat  of  his  unwonted  efforts  to  comply  with  the 
youth's  exacting  demands  for  speed.  A  full-blooded 
Indian  would  have  been  more  calm,  but  Pleasant,  as  he 
daily  remembered  with  bitterness,  was  not  a  "  full-blood." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

A   MYSTERIOUS   INSTRUMENT. 

THE  young  Indian  did  not  stay  long  in  Interlaken.  He 
looked  once  only  at  the  Jungfrau,  but  his  brief  glance  at 
the  majestic  mountain  brought  with  it  a  memory  of  Alice, 
which  he  tried  in  vain  to  put  away.  This  memory  went 
with  him,  awakening  in  his  heart  a  strange  mixture  of 
pleasure  and  pain,  as  he  crossed  the  Lake  of  Thun,  and 
hastened  on  to  the  pleasant  town  of  Berne.  He  had 
telegraphed  to  Lucerne  for  any  letters  which  might  be 
awaiting  him  there,  and  was  pleased  to  receive  one  or 
two  fat  envelopes,  addressed,  in  a  very  scraggy  hand- 
writing, to  u  Mr.  Pleasant  Merrinott  of  the  Cherokee 
Nation,"  when  he  gave  his  name  at  the  Hotel  Bellevue. 
A  solemn  waiter  in  black  ushered  him  into  a  little  room 
overlooking  a  garden  perched  on  a  high  terrace,  and  left 
him  alone.  Pleasant  broke  open  the  largest  of  the  letters 
with  feverish  haste,  and  when  he  had  read  it  dropped  the 
paper  upon  the  floor,  and  sat  looking  into  space  for  some 
minutes  without  moving  a  muscle.  If  he  had  had  the 
strength  to  speak  he  would  have  said  that  his  Fate  had 
once  more  taken  charge  of  him,  and  was  pushing  lu'm 
onward  in  most  imperious  fashion. 

The  letter  which  Pleasant  had  read  was  from  one  of 
the  Indians  who  resided  in  Washington  as  the  delegate 
of  those  C'herokees  who  were  determined  that  the  Indian 
120 


A  MYSTERIOUS  INSTRUMENT.  121 

Territory  should  not  be  opened  to  white  settlers.  It  con- 
tained a  circumstantial  account  of  the  "  invasion,"  the 
account  of  which  had  so  aroused  Pleasant's  anger  on  the 
day  when  he  met  Alice  near  Meiringen.  But  there  was 
a  grain  of  comfort  in  the  statement  that  the  invaders  were 
few  in  number,  and  would  soon  be  compelled  to  retreat. 
The  paragraph  which  most  surprised  the  young  Indian, 
however,  was  the  following  :  — 

"  All  things  considered,  we  reckon  that  the  best  course 
for  you  to  pursue  is  to  remain  in  Europe  —  say  a  month  or 
two  longer  —  and,  in  case  you  do  not  hear  to  the  contrary 
from  us,  perhaps  a  year  or  two.  We  believe  that  you  can 
serve  our  cause  better  than  any  one  else  whom  we  can 
find.  You  are  educated  ;  you  have  some  money  ;  and  you 
believe  in  yourself  and  in  us.  Keep  up  your  protest,  and 
make  opinion  in  our  favour  among  the  investors  and 
bankers  in  general.  There  is  a  right  smart  to  do  for  us 
in  Europe,  and  you  can  do  it.  We  felt  that  possibly  you 
would  be  inclined  to  come  home  at  once  when  you  heard 
the  news ;  but  be  cool,  and  never  mind  these  little  inci- 
dents over  here.  You  are  our  delegate  beyond  the  big 
Pond,  and  the  people  in  the  Nation  believe  that  you  are 
saving  the  situation. 

"The  Blnelots  are  powerful  curious  to  know  what  you 
are  up  to,  and  one  of  them  said,  the  other  day,  at  Vinita, 
that  if  you  came  home  he  would  find  out  what  you  had 
been  doing,  and  if  it  wasn't  all  straight,  he  would —  well- 
he  said  he'd  blow  your  head  off.  We  know  that  you  would 
give  a  good  account  of  yourself  if  you  were  in  the  Terri- 
tory, but  we  feel  as  if  we  needed  you  over  where  you  are. 
I  enclose  you  a  lot  of  fresh  data  on  the  railroad  matter. 
Now,  Pleasant,  keep  the  ball  a-rollingr  and  let  us  know 
how  you  get  along.  You  can  draw  on  the  fund  when  you 
get  tired  of  spending  your  own  money.  Don't  disappoint 
us ;  and  so  no  more  at  present  from  yours  sincerely. ' ' 


122  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

The  writer,  who  was,  like  Pleasant,  a  half-breed 
Cherokee,  had  signed  his  quaint  name  with  a  flourish, 
and  added  in  a  postscript  written  across  the  body  of  the 
epistle,  "  We  are  waiting  anxiously  for  the  result  of  your 
interview  with  the  banker.  We  know  that  you  will  not 
weaken." 

Pleasant  remained  absorbed  in  thought  for  more  than 
half  an  hour.  Then  he  arose  with  unclouded  brow,  and 
began  unpacking  his  slender  baggage. 

"  What  a  fool  I  was  not  to  remain  in  Meiringen  !  "  he 
said.  "Let  me  see.  The  train  for  Paris  leaves  late  in 
the  afternoon.  Shall  I  go  to  Paris  and  continue  my 
campaign  at  once,  or  —  shall  I  remain  here  for  a  time?  I 
really  —  don't  —  know." 

He  ordered  lunch  in  the  garden,  and  while  waiting  for 
it  he  loitered  on  the  terrace.  In  the  distance  he  saw  the 
noble  white  line  of  the  Bernese  Alps,  and  for  an  instant 
he  felt  tempted  to  go  back  to  them  —  to  return  to  Alice. 
Alice!  Why  should  he  think  of  her?  Why  was  the  air 
filled  with  faces  like  hers?  Why  did  the  very  thought  of 
her  name  cause  his  heart  to  beat  violently?  He  must 
forget  her,  and  attend  to  his  work. 

After  lunch  he  wandered  through  the  streets  of  the 
ancient  town,  and  found  relief  from  his  perplexity  in 
gating  at  the  curious  costumes  of  the  peasants,  the  long 
arcades,  beneath  which  hundreds  of  tiny  shops  were 
ranged,  and  the  innumerous  stone  fountains  into  which 
cool  water  ran  and  plashed  musically.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  he  had  been  mysteriously  conveyed  backward  hun- 
dreds of  j'ears  into  the  past,  and  that  he  was  a  knight, 
with  jingling  spur  and  with  sword  buckled  at  side,  who 
had  come  riding  in  from  his  fortified  castle  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood to  idle  away  a  few  pleasant  hours  in  Berne.  He 
went  down  the  sunny  side  and  up  the  shady  side  of  street 
after  street ;  peeped  into  dark  and  rather  ill-smelling  beer 


A  MYSTERIOUS   INSTRUMENT.  123 

houses,  where  solemn  peasants  sat  with  enormous  glasses 
of  beer  and  crusts  of  black  bread  before  them ;  watched 
the  ugly  old  women  seated  on  wooden  benches  in  the 
shadows  of  stone  pillars,  knitting  as  if  their  very  lives  de- 
pended upon  every  stitch  ;  and  went  down  huge  stairways 
and  up  long  passages  and  over  small  bridges  unweariedly. 

It  was  a  market  day,  and  in  the  middle  of  each 
principal  street  there  was  a  throng  of  broad-hatted  women 
and  girls,  some  squatted  upon  the  cobble  stones,  others 
leaning  on  benches,  and  all  with  heaps  of  vegetables, 
fruits,  or  home-made  articles  of  clothing  before  them. 
Cattle  were  tied  to  posts,  and  protested  with  loud  bel- 
lowings  against  their  comfortless  sojourn  in  the  sun ; 
goats,  on  sale,  perpetually  climbed  over  imaginary  hills 
and  butted  at  invisible  enemies  ;  sheep  patiently  awaited 
their  new  purchasers ;  fowls  gabbled,  cocks  crew,  horses 
neighed,  and  waggoners  jested  in  loud,  coarse  voices. 
Bottles  of  white  wine  were  brought  out  to  the  thirsty 
peasantry,  and  smoke  from  immense  porcelain  pipes  arose 
on  the  air. 

When  Pleasant  was  tired  of  the  market  and  of  the 
importunities  of  the  small  shopkeepers,  who  were  anxious 
that  he  should  buy  wooden  bears  carrying  umbrellas, 
wooden  bears  wearing  spectacles,  wooden  bears  fighting 
duels,  and  wooden  bears  proudly  upholding  the  blazon  of 
the  old  city  of  Berne,  —  he  took  refuge  on  the  bank  of  the 
River  Aar,  at  a  point  where  the  burghers  long  ago  built 
a  pretty  square,  and  planted  it  with  trees,  and  set  in  its 
midst  a  fountain,  surmounted  by  a  terrible  image  of  the 
Child  Eater,  destined  to  terrify  wilful  children. 

A  group  of  white-haired  girls  aud  boys  was  gravely 
contemplating  this  mediaeval  representation  of  the  "  old 
man"  concerning  whom  every  one  has  heard  so  much  in 
childhood  days.  The  ogre  is  depicted  in  the  act.  of  crunch- 
ing, with  diabolical  satisfaction,  the  head  of  the  innocent 


124  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

babe,  while  a  plentiful  supply  of  the  same  delicate  creatures 
hangs  at  his  back.  The  mites  are  expecting  to  be  de- 
voured, and  their  frantic  gestures  and  woe-begone  faces 
are  enough  to  strike  terror  into  the  heart  of  the  most 
refractory  child. 

Pleasant  turned  with  a  smile  from  this  fabulous 
monster,  and  presently  went  down  into  the  deep,  dark 
cellar  under  the  Corn  Market,  and  in  the  gloom  saw  long 
rows  of  gigantic  casks,  every  <5ne  of  which  was  a  worthy 
rival  of  the  mammoth  tuns  of  Heidelberg.  Here  a  deep- 
voiced  maiden  came  to  take  his  order,  and  he  abstractedly 
drank  the  red  wine  which  she  set  before  him.  When 
his  eyes  were  accustomed  to  the  dimness,  he  saw  that  he 
was  surrounded  by  a  goodly  company.  Grave-looking  men 
weighted  with  years,  men  with  gray  beards,  but  faces  of 
fiery  red,  men  who  were  doubtless'  the  magistrates,  the 
counsellors,  and  the  thinkers  of  Berne,  sat  quaffing  fre- 
quent cups  with  evident  gusto.  The  prosaic  garb  of  the 
nineteenth  century  seemed  to  suit  them  poorly.  Pleasant 
fancied  that  they  would  appear  to  better  advantage  in 
doublets  and  hose,  in  mantles  and  caps,  in  blue  and 
scarlet  and  green. 

From  the  wine-cellar  he  went  to  the  great  plateau  on 
which  the  cathedral  stands,  and  there  in  the  comfortable 
shade  he  sat  down  upon  a  bench.  This  walk  among  the 
odd  sights  of  Berne  had  refreshed  his  mind  ;  he  forgot  for 
a  few  rniimtcs  the  perplexities  of  his  mission,'  and  gave 
himself  up  to  the  dreamy  intoxication  which  the  traveller 
from  new  countries,  where  Nature  is  still  supreme,  feels  in 
old  hinds,  where  Art  has  entered  every  corner  and  set  its 
foot  upon  each  threshold. 

Below  the  great  stone  platform,  high  on  the  bluff,  were 
banks  rich  with  grasses,  flowers,  and  ferns  almost  as 
brilliant  as  those  of  Western  America.  Pretty  villas  occu- 
pied the  highest  range  of  hills,  sloping  downward  from 


A  MYSTERIOUS   INSTRUMENT.  125 

the  pinnacle  ;  more  modest  dwellings  filled  up  the  second 
terrace  ;  and  near  the  river  was  a  mass  of  dark,  ancient 
houses,  huddling  together  as  if  imploring  the  protection  of 
the  cathedral.  These  abodes  of  the  populace  were  grimy 
with  the  accumulated  dust  of  centuries ;  they  were  filled 
with  labyrinthine  passages,  mysterious  flights  of  steps, 
ridiculous  little  balconies,  which  looked  out  upon  nothing 
at  all  —  backyards  which  seemed  to  have  been  constructed 
expressly  to  cheat  the  sun  —  and  claustral  chambers,,  with 
iron-barred  windows,  through  which  babies  innumerable 
were  continually  thrusting  their  adventurous  heads. 

One  house  in  particular,  which  Pleasant  could  see  from 
the  place  where  he  sat,  was  impressively  full  of  the 
mystery  of  age.  It  was  a  gloomy  structure  of  many 
storeys,  standing  in  the  midst  of,  yet  somewhat  isolated 
from,  a  few  smaller  ones.  Narrow  footways  between  these 
diminutive  houses  led  up  to  the  large  one.  Pleasant 
wondered  if  life  in  such  a  venerable  pile  could  be  agreeable 
—  if  within  he  should  find  the  babble  of  women's  voices, 
the  laughter  of  children,  the  noise  of  a  loom,  or  the  purr 
of  a  cat.  "Was  civilization  a  triumph,  when  it  built  such 
grim  and  unwholesome  structures  for  human  life  to  dwell 
in  ?  He  did  not  reflect  that  the  house  dated  from  a  time 
when  perpetual  petty  warfare  compelled  artisan  and  prince 
alike  to  crowd  together  within  the  narrow  bounds  of  high 
and  strong  fortifications.  The  old  building  annoyed  him  ; 
he  would  have  liked  to  tear  it  down,  and  hav.e  it  replaced 
by  a  more  cheerful  residence.  The  more  he  gazed  at 
it,  the  stronger  grew  his  curiosity  to  know  something 
about  its  inmates.  "  Why  should  I  not  go  there?"  he 
thought.  "  I  have  nothing  else  to  do  for  the  moment." 

After  he  had  looked  out  upon  the  river,  which  ran 
foaming  and  dancing  with  hilarious  swiftness  around  a 
little  island,  and  then  impetuously  past  the  tall  houses, 
and  then  under  a  high  bridge,  and  so  on  through  another 


126  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

and  more  aristocratic  quarter  of  the  town,  be  left  the 
platform  and  the  cathedral,  and,  with  some  difficulty, 
found  his  way,  by  a  long  staircase,  to  the  valley  and  the 
neighbourhood  of  the  mysterious  house. 

Good  wives,  engaged  in  the  peaceful  pursuit  of  washing 
the  garments  of  strangers  visiting  the  hotels,  and  good 
men  sawing  and  splitting  firewood,  aided,  in  many  cases, 
by  their  stout  daughters,  stared  at  Pleasant's  long  hair, 
and  glanced  at  each  other  suspiciously  as  he  penetrated 
alley  after  alley  in  this  domain  of  the  poor.  Diminutive 
maidens  tugging  babies  in  their  arms,  and  feeding  them 
with  vast  slices  of  bread,  fled  distrustfully  into  corners 
at  his  approach.  Queer  dogs  barked  at  him,  parrots 
sarcastically  addressed  him  in  corrupt  German,  and  cats 
leaped  precipitately  out  of  his  path.  An  old  crone,  who 
looked  as  aged  as  the  Alps,  and  who,  like  them,  had 
snowy  white  upon  her  brows,  was  sitting  on  a  low  door- 
step near  the  entrance  to  a  narrow  street  leading  to  the 
house  which  Pleasant  especially  desired  to  see.  As  he 
passed  she  muttered  something  of  which  he  understood 
not  a  word,  but  which  seemed  to  him  more  like  a  male- 
diction than  an  entreaty  or  a  blessing. 

"Now,  here,"  thought  Pleasant,  "is  the  place  of  all 
places  in  the  world  to  hide.  In  that  small  chamber, 
opening  into  that  infinitesimal  balcony,  a  man  might  stay 
for  years,  unknown,  undiscovered,  and  certainly  no  one 
would  think  of  searching  for  him  there."  The  fancy, 
though  trivial,  pleased  him,,  and  he  continued  to  indulge 
it  as  he  neared  the  dingy  walls  of  the  house  which  had 
fascinated  him. 

A  black  and  frowning  archway  gave  entrance  to  a 
passage  which  ran  through  the  structure  from  side  to  side, 
and  was  crossed  at  right  angles  by  another  exactly  similar 
one.  As  Pleasant  entered,  a  cold  breeze,  charged  with  the 
acrid  humours  which  had  gathered  upon  the  stones,  and 


A  MYSTERIOUS   INSTRUMENT.  127 

with  the  odours  from  the  tenements  on  either  side,  smote 
his  senses  unpleasantly.  He  turned  as  if  to  retire,  but 
after  a  moment's  reflection  he  went  in.  No  one  challenged 
his  right  to  enter.  There  were  few  signs  of  life  in  the 
dark  dens  in  which  the  poor  of  Berne  hid  their  misery. 
At  the  angle  of  the  passages  he  turned,  and  was  walking 
slowly  forward  in  a  gloom  which  increased  with  each  step, 
when  a  door,  at  a  point  where  he  had  not  suspected  that 
there  was  an  aperture,  was  thrown  open ;  he  heard  the 
sound  of  voices,  and  standing  against  the  wall  in  the 
thickest  of  the  shadow,  he  was  the  involuntary  witness  of 
a  singular  scene. 

Through  the  open  doorway  Pleasant  looked  in  upon  a 
small,  meanly-furnished  room,  filled  with  brass  and  iron 
and  copper  instruments  hanging  on  the  whitewashed 
stone  walls,  or  arranged  upon  blackened  counters,  or  lying 
in  confusion  on  the  floor.  In  one  corner  stood  a  work- 
bench fitted  with  vises,  hammers,  pincers,  and  a  host  of 
tools  both  delicate  and  strong.  Opposite  the  door  was  a 
recess,  into  which  a  clear  light  came  from  a  shaft  worked 
in  the  wall,  probably  fitted  with  a  large  window  above ; 
and  standing  where  the  light  fell  most  fully  was  an  old 
man,  upholding  in  his  two  withered  hands  a  small  machine, 
beautifully  finished,  and  glittering.  This  machine  was  not 
much  larger  than  the  works  of  a  small  clock,  and  Pleas- 
ant's  first  thought  was  that  he  had  stumbled  upon  the  den 
of  a  maker  of  some  of  the  ingenious  timepieces  for  which 
Switzerland  is  famous. 

The  old  man  was  clad  in  a  long  greasy  great-coat,  the 
edges  of  which  had  at  some  remote  period  probably  been 
lined  with  strips  of  fur,  now  fallen  to  the  estate  of  rows  of 
mangy  hide  ;  and  his  whole  personal  appearance  indicated 
extreme  poverty.  His  features,  which  were  seamed  with 
wriukles  and  scars,  were  of  a  pronounced  Hebraic  type, 
and  in  front  of  each  of  his  venerable  ears  a  waving  gray 


128  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

curl  hung  down.  His  face  would  have  been  sinister  and 
repulsive,  had  it  not  been  at  that  moment  lighted  up  with 
a  strange  smile  of  triumph  which  made  it  almost  heroic. 
As  the  sordid  old  man  held  the  brass  mechanism  to  the 
light,  and  gazed  fondly  on  it,  it  was  easy  to  see  that  he 
was  contemplating  a  marvel  which  he  had  himself  con- 
structed, and  that  his  professional  pride  was  thoroughly 
aroused. 

He  spoke  rapidly  in  a  low  voice,  and  in  a  language  en- 
tirely unfamiliar  to  Pleasant  —  as  if  he  were  addressing 
a  vigorous  apostrophe  to  some  unseen  person.  As  he 
was  in  the  midst  of  a  veritable  rhapsody  there  was  the 
rustle  of  a  dress,  and  a  woman  stepped  forward  hastily, 
and  eagerly  stretched  out  one  hand  as  if  she,  also,  were 
desirous  of  caressing  the  cunning  toy  of  which  its  maker 
seemed  so  proud.  The  old  man  cast  a  disturbed  glance  at 
the  open  door,  as  if  he  feared  observation  ;  then  he  slowly 
lowered  the  brass  mechanism,  and  placed  it  in  the  lady's 
hands.  Just  then  a  third  figure,  that  of  a  young  and 
handsome  man,  came  into  the  light,  and  bent  its  face 
gravely  above  the  machine.  Pleasant  stared,  started,  and 
knocked  one  foot  loudly  against  a  projecting  stone. 

lie  had  recognized  the  musician  Stanislas. 

His  first  impulse  was  to  step  forward  into  the  little 
room  and  salute  this  new  acquaintance,  whom  he  had 
found  again  in  such  an  out-of-the-way  corner.  But  a 
second  look  at  the  group  convinced  him  that  he  must  do 
nothing  of  the  kind.  At  the  sound  which  he  had  made  by 
his  unwitting  stumble  the  old  man's  face  grew  livid,  and 
his  whole  frame  was  tremulous  with  abject  fear.  He  seized 
the  machine,  unceremoniously  snatching  it  from  the  lady's 
hands,  and  thrust  it  beneath  the  folds  of  his  coat,  crossing 
his  lean  arms  over  it,  as  if  he  were  prepared  to  defend  it 
to  the  uttermost.  The  lady  looked  up  in  surprise,  and 
Pleasant  saw  that  she  was  young,  and,  although  not 


A  MYSTERIOUS   INSTRUMENT.  129 

beautiful,  possessed  an  attractive,  magnetic  face.  As  for 
Stanislas,  he  gazed  at  the  old  man  coldly  for  a  moment  or 
two,  then  addressed  him  a  remark  which  seemed  intended 
to  quiet  his  fears ;  but  as  Stanislas  spoke  in  the  same 
language  which  the  venerable  trembler  had  employed, 
Pleasant  was  no  wiser.  Presently  the  old  man  pointed 
in  the  direction  of  the  door,  and  grew  more  frantic  with 
terror  than  before.  The  woman  herself  was  visibly 
moved,  and  gazed  so  intently  at  the  black  mass  of  shadow 
in  which  Pleasant  was  standing  that  he  felt  extremely  un- 
comfortable, and  determined  to  steal  away  the  moment 
it  was  possible.  He  hoped  that  they  would  close  the 
door,  thus  allowing  him  to  depart  unobserved. 

Who  was  this  aged  artisan,  hidden  in  this  obscure  cel- 
lar in  the  slums  of  Berne,  and  why  should  Stanislas  visit 
him  ?  And  who  was  the  lady  ?  Who  could  she  be  but 
the  Vera  of  the  letter  which  Pleasant  had  found  on  the 
stairs  of  the  inn  at  Meiringen  ?  And  why  had  Stanislas 
said  that  he  was  going  to  London,  when  in  reality  he  had 
come  to  Berne  to  meet  a  Vera  ?  And  what  was  the 
mechanism  which  they  were  examining?  **  Perhaps," 
thought  Pleasant,  "  Stanislas  is  perfecting  some  musical 
invention,  which  he  desires  to  keep  a  profound  secret  for 
the  present,  and  has  employed  this  old  man  to  work  out 
the  principle.  Yet  no  ;  that  cannot  be  —  for  the  instru- 
ment-maker would  show  no  such  fear  about  the  discovery 
of  a  matter  like  that.  What  can  it  be?  " 

The  lady  spoke  to  Stanislas,  and  before  Pleasant  could 
move  away,  the  musician  stepped  quickly  into  the  passage, 
shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand.  Pleasant  saw  that  retreat 
would  be  useless,  and  came  forward.  The  musician 
looked  sharply  at  him,  as  if  he  did  not  at  first  recognize 
him.  But  finally  a  smile  lighted  up  his  face ;  he  took 
Pleasant's  proffered  hand,  and  said,  in  English  — 

' '  Mr.  Merrinott !     How  in  the  name  —  of  —  the  mar- 


130  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

vellous  did  you  find  your  way  here  ?  It  —  must  —  have 
been  —  I  suppose  —  by  accident?  " 

There  was  an  accent  of  suspicion  which  Pleasant  did 
not  like  in  this  last  sentence. 

"  Evidently  by  accident,"  he  answered,  a  trifle  coldly. 
"  I  could  hardly  have  expected  to  find  you  here  —  for  you 
told  me  you  were  going  to  London." 

Stanislas  coughed.  "Tine  —  true  —  at  Meiringen  I 
did  tell  you  so.  What  a  singular  meeting.  Come  in,  and 
tell  us  how  you  happened  to  find  your  way  to  this  den  of 
science.  "  Come  in." 

Without  giving  Pleasant  time  to  voice  the  many  ex- 
cuses and  objections  which  were  rising  to  his  lips,  he 
drew  him,  still  holding  his  hand,  into  the  room,  and  closed 
the  door  behind  him.  The  young  Cherokee  stood,  a  little 
confused,  in  the  presence  of  the  lady,  whose  face  was 
white,  but  whose  demeanour  was  calm. 

"  Fear  nothing,  Vera,  for  the  excellent  reason  that 
there  is  nothing  to  fear,"  said  Stanislas  to  the  j'oung 
woman.  He  spoke  in  Polish,  the  language  in  which  the 
old  man  had  also  spoken.  "  This  is  the  Indian,  the 
American,  of  whom  I  have  spoken  to  you.  He  is  an 
enthusiast,  a  malcontent;  he  is  safe.  Do  you  hear  me? 
I  say  that  he  is  safe.  Can  you  not  reassure  that  grimy 
idiot  yonder  ?"  He  pointed  with  a  contemptuous  smile 
to  the  instrument-maker,  who  appeared  more  frightened 
than  ever,  and  who  still  kept  his  arms  folded  tightly  over 
his  breast. 

The  lady  looked  very  carefully  and  intently  at  Pleas- 
aut's  face.  He  felt  that  he  had  never  been  so  scrutinized 
before.  Then  she  held  out  her  hand  to  him. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE    DISCIPLES    OF   BAKOUNIN. 

"  ALLOW  me  to  apologize  for  my  intrusion,"  said  Pleasant 
to  the  lady.  "  I  really  think  that  it  would  be  well  for  me 
to  go  away  at  once.  Monsieur  Stanislas  will  assure  you 
that  my  presence  here  is  entirely  accidental."  He  spoke 
in  English,  rather  hesitatingly,  and  glanced  at  Stanislas 
as  he  concluded  his  remarks.  A  faint  smile,  which  had  a 
certain  cynicism  in  it,  and  which  did  not  please  the  young 
Indian,  flitted  over  the  musician's  face. 

"Sister  Vera,  speak  for  yourself,"  said  Stanislas. 
"Your  judgment  is  rarely  at  fault.  Shall  the  gentleman 
retire  or  remain?  We  might  almost — fancy  —  that  Fate 
—  has  sent  him  here." 

Pleasant  was  surprised  to  hear  the  lady  respond  in 
English,  and  in  a  deep,  musical  voice,  "  Brother  Stanislas, 
after  what  you  have  told  me  of  this  gentleman  I  think  we 
are  justified  in  asking  him  to  remain.  Do  you  know, 
Monsieur,"  she  continued,  looking  Pleasant  in  the  face  and 
smiling,  "  that  you  have  given  us  a  fright?  I  confess  that 
my  limbs  tremble  a  little  even  now.  Stanislas,  will  you 
give  me  a  chair?  Ah!  I  forgot  that  there  is  none  in 
this  dreadful  den.  That  stool  will  do.  Is  it  clean? 
Thanks."  She  seated  herself  ;  pushed  back,  with  a  pretty 
movement  of  her  thin,  white  hands,  her  simple  hat  from 
her  broad  brow,  and  seemed  inclined  for  conversation. 

131 


132  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

Pleasant  was  puzzled.  For  an  instant  he  felt  an 
inclination  to  turn  and  escape  from  the  place.  He  grew 
dizzy  in  the  close  atmosphere,  laden  with  the  odours  of  hot 
metals  and  acids.  He  was  half  persuaded  that  he  had 
fallen  asleep,  and  that  these  figures  around  him  were 
visions.  Who  and  what  were  these  people?  The  lady 
was  young ;  her  features  were  thin  and  delicate,  her  lips 
firm,  her  eyes  blue  and  clear.  Her  wavy  chestnut  hair 
had  been  cut  short,  and  was  parted  at  one  side  and  combed 
carelessly  back.  Her  dress  was  plain  and  in  excellent 
taste.  The  only  defect  in  her  face  was  a  masculine  stern- 
ness, which  seemed  born  of  a  great  purpose.  This  was  a 
woman  who  had  a  mission. 

Stanislas  stepped  forward  and  touched  Pleasant' s  arm 
lightly.  "  Mr.  Merrinott,"  he  said,  "  you  seem  surprised. 
A  few  words  will  explain  everything.  "We  all  speak 
English  here  —  and  ' '  —  here  he  glanced  suspiciously 
around  —  "  perhaps  it  will  be  wise  to  say  all  that  we  have 
to  say  in  that  language,  for  every  wall  has  ears  that 
gape  to  hear  us  when  we  speak." 

"  Every  wall  has  eyes,  too,"  said  the  old  man,  inter- 
rupting Stanislas.  "  Ears  and  eyes.  See!  we  open  the 
door  for  one  little  minute,  because  the  lady  is  ready  to 
faint  in  the  bad  air  —  and  there  are  eyes  and  ears  in  the 
darkness  outside."  He  pointed  at  Pleasant.  "It  is 
terrible.  We  are  safe  nowhere — unless  —  unless  —  we 
make  sure." 

Pleasant  looked  sternl}'  at  the  old  man,  whose  last 
words  had  sounded  like  a  menace,  and  he  was  startled  to 
see  a  threatening  expression  in  the  unsteady  63*68. 

"  Ah  !  rny  lad,"  said  the  aged  instrument-maker,  "  you 
are  surprised  to  hear  me  speak  in  English,  are  you  not? 
Why,  I  have  spoken  it  for  four-and-twenty  years  !  Aha  ! 
I  learned  it  before  you  were  born.  Why,  child,  I  lived  in 
London  forty  years  !  Forty  years  —  not  a  day  less.  You 


THE  DISCIPLES   OF   BAKOUNIN.  133 

see  that  I  was  not  born  yesterday.  Oh !  you  may  speak 
your  English  here.  But  let  me  tell  you  something  for 
your  instruction.  You  came  here  by  accident.  Good. 
You  are  a  friend  of  Stanislas.  Good.  You  are  a  stranger 
from  beyond  the  sea.  Good.  But  remember  that  what 
you  have  seen  here  —  that  all  you  hear  in  this  room,  must 
be  kept  as  secret  as  the  grave.  For,  though  walls  have 
ears  to  hear  us  —  we  can  make  our  way  through  all  walls 
—  and  we  have  long  arms  to  strike.  And  when  one  is  not 
as  secret  as  the  grave  about  us,  we  send  him  to  the  grave 
with  his  secret.  Ah  ! ' ' 

The  man  shrank  back  into  his  corner,  for  Pleasant  had 
raised  his  right  hand  impatiently.  "Do  you  threaten 
me?"  he  said.  "Look  at  me!  I  am  an  Indian.  Do 
you  think  I  am  afraid  of  threats?  What  do  you 
mean?" 

Stanislas  was  at  the  old  man's  side  in  an  instant,  and 
caught  him  roughly  by  the  shoulder  and  shook  him. 
"Are  you  losing  your  senses?"  he  said.  "Have  you 
not  heard  me  tell  Vera  that  this  gentleman  is  safe  ?  Must 
you  presume  to  threaten  him  ? ' ' 

"He  is  warned,"  said  the  instrument- maker,  sullenly. 
"  Tell  him  what  you  please,  now." 

"He  is  safe,  I  tell  you,"  continued  Stanislas.  "He 
will  not  betray  us,  because,  like  each  of  us,  he  is  a  victim 
of  the  injustice  of  society  and  government.  The  first 
time  that  I  ever  saw  him  I  marked  him  for  one  of  us." 

"  Explain,  if  you  please,"  said  Pleasant,  in  amazement. 
' '  Who  and  what  are  you  ? ' ' 

"Sister  Vera  will  tell  you  that,"  said  the  musician; 
"she  has  a  wonderful  talent  for  lucid  explanation!" 
Again  his  smile  impressed  the  }Toung  Indian  disagreeably. 

"I  am  sure  I  do  not  understand  you,"  stammered 
Pleasant.  "I  am  not  anxious  to  know  your  secrets;  I 
did  not  ask  you  to  show  me  this  room.  I  have  no  desire 


134  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

—  and  certainly  have  no  interest — to  betray  any  confi- 
dence that  you  bestow  on  me  ;  but  why ' ' 

"Do  3'ou  remember  saying  to  me  at  Meiringen,  while 
we  were  peacefully  smoking  our  cigars  in  the  garden  of 
the  inn,  that  the  world  is  all  wrong ;  that  the  whole 
system  of  society  ought  to  be  destroyed,  so  that  men 
may  begin  over  again  and  build  better  a  second  time  ?  ' ' 

"  Well,  yes  ;  I  reckon  I  have  said  that  right  often,  and 
especially  within  the  last  few  days,  when  I  have  been 
thinking  of  the  wrongs  which  my  race  has  suffered." 

"That  remark,"  said  Stanislas,  "convinced  me  that 
you  were  one  of  us." 

Pleasant  was  about  to  answer,  but  the  lady  spoke. 
"In  America,"  she  said,  "you  theorize  when  you  are 
discontented ;  but  you  do  nothing  else.  In  Europe  we 
act.  Society  has  been  tried  on  its  merits,  found  wanting, 
and  condemned.  It  must  be  destroyed." 

"  You  are  conspirators  !  "  cried  the  young  Indian. 

"Not  at  all,"  answered  the  lady,  coldly.  "We  are 
executioners." 

"That  is  it,"  said  Stanislas,  with  his  mocking  smile. 
"  We  arc  weary  of  the  established  order  of  things,  and  we 
propose  to  upset  it.  Are  you  greatly  shocked,  and  do  you 
think  we  are  horrible  monsters  ?  ' '  He  drew  a  package  of 
cigarettes  from  his  pocket,  offered  it  to  Pleasant,  who 
declined,  and  to  the  lady,  who  took  one,  and  finally  to  the 
old  man,  who  took  three,  and  quietly  stowed  them  away 
in  a  pocket  of  his  greasy  coat,  still  clinging  with  one  hand 
to  the  machine,  which  he  kept  hidden  in  his  bosom. 

"  I  will  not  light  it  just  now,"  said  the  lady,  as  Stanislas 
offered  her  a  match.  "Yes  —  in  America  you  are  satis- 
fied to  theorize.  You  put  your  social  question  aside,  and 
say  that  it  can  wait.  But  we  meet  ours  face  to  face.  We 
grapple  with  it." 

The  young  Cherokee  began  to  feel  strangely  interested 


THE  DISCIPLES   OF  BAKOUNIN.  135 

in  this  energetic  woman  with  the  clear  blue  eyes  and  bold 
firm  voice.  Her  face  reminded  him  curiously  of  one  that 
he  had  seen  elsewhere,  but  whether  in  life  or  in  a  book  he 
could  not  remember.  He  said  nothing,  but  encouraged 
her  by  his  attitude  to  continue. 

"After  centuries  of  oppression,  of  misgovernment,  of 
corruption,  of  tyranny,  it  is  not  strange  that  sensible  and 
logical  persons  should  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  old 
order  of  things  needs  changing.  Extremists  like  our- 
selves believe  that  it  should  be  annihilated." 

Pleasant  remembered  now  where  he  had  seen  a  face 
like  that  of  the  lady  addressing  him.  It  was  the  portrait 
of  a  young  Nihilist,  a  Russian  woman,  who  had  been 
sentenced  to  exile  in  Siberia  for  conspiring  against  the 
existing  order  of  things.  He  had  seen  this  portrait  in  an 
English  illustrated  paper  only  a  few  weeks  ago.  And 
now  he  understood  clearly  that  he  had  stumbled  upon  a 
Nihilist  conspiracy.  Was  the  musician,  with  his  dreamy, 
poetic  temperament,  a  conspirator?  Was  this  charming 
young  lady  an  apostle  of  destruction  ?  Was  this  hideous 
old  man  a  member  of  the  secret  band  which  had  sworn 
that  the  Russian  autocracy  should  perish  from  the  face  of 
the  earth? 

"  You  have  seen  a  farmer  burn  over  a  patch  of  land  so 
that  fresh  and  delicate  herbage  might  spring  up  on  it, 
have  you  not?"  said  the  lady,  twisting  her  cigarette 
daintily.  "Well,  that  is  precisely  what  we  propose  to 
do.  And  it  is  that  which  you  should  be  willing  to  help 
us  to  do,  since  you,  like  us,  are  profoundly  convinced  that 
society  in  its  present  condition  is  unfit  to  endure." 

Pleasant  made  no  answer.  He  felt  that  there  was 
none  to  be  made.  He  was  receiving  a  lecture  ;  the  lady 
was  explaining  an  important  subject  to  him,  and  he  must 
listen  in  silence.  Something  touched  his  arm.  He  looked 
around.  It  was  Stanislas,  who  called  his  attention  to  a 


136  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

stool  placed  near  him.  Pleasant  sat  down,  and  the  lady 
continued  — 

"Brother  Stanislas  and  I,  though  born  hi  Russia, 
are  partly  of  Polish  stock ;  there  is  perhaps  a  little 
Semitic  blood  in  our  veins.  Ignatius,  here,  is  a  Polish 
Jew.  The  social  question  in  Russia  is  more  pressing,  the 
position  is  more  intolerable  there  than  elsewhere.  We 
are  members  of  the  company  that  is  working  for  the 
destruction  of  Russian  society  as  it  exists.  On  its  ashes 
and  ruins  we,  or  those  who  survive  us,  can  and  will 
build  something  better.  Why  should  you  not  do  the 
same  in  your  own  land?  Why  should  you  submit  to 
the  extermination  of  your  race  ?  As  society  is  at  present 
constituted  you  can  make  no  successful  resistance  within 
its  limits  to  the  sort  of  injustice  of  which  you  complain. 
You  are  caught  in  the  machinery,  and  you  will  be  crushed 
unless  the  machinery  is  instantly  —  stopped  !  " 

She  arose  with  a  light  laugh,  which  had  the  ghost  of 
a  cry  of  lamentation  hidden  in  it.  As  she  uttered  the 
last  words  she  made  an  upward  sweeping  gesture  with 
both  hands.  Pleasant  fancied  that  he  could  see  the  whole 
fabric  of  society  whirling  in  shattered  fragments  into  air. 
The  lady  took  a  light  for  her  cigarette  and  began  smok- 
ing. The  Indian  could  not  take  his  eyes  from  her ;  he 
had  never  seen  such  a  woman  as  this  before. 

"It  suddenly  occurs  to  me,"  said  Stanislas,  "that  I 
have  not  formally  presented  you  to  my  sister.  Mr. 
Merrinott,  of  the  —  how  do  you  call  your  country  ?  —  the 
Indian  Nation,  is  it  not?  —  allow  me  to  introduce  you  to 
Mademoiselle  Vera,  lately  student  hi  medicine  at  the 
University  of  Zurich." 

Pleasant  arose,  and  found  it  necessary  to  say  some- 
thing. He  stammered  out  a  compliment  as  to  the  clear 
manner  in  which  Vera  expressed  her  views,  and  added, 
after  some  hesitation  — 


THE  DISCIPLES   OF  BAKOUNIX.  137 

"  We  certainly  agree  as  to  the  necessity  for  a  complete 
change  in  the  social  order  of  things  ;  but  I  am  not  quite 
sure  that  we  agree  as  to  the  means  of  accomplishing  that 
change.  I  have  heard  and  read  a  right  smart  bit  about 
Nihilism,  and  I  must  confess  that " 

"My  son,"  said  the  old  man,  shuffling  forward,  and 
casting  timorous  glances  behind  him,  as  if  the  sound  of 
his  own  voice  filled  him  with  terror,  "did  you  ever  hear 
of  Michael  Bakounin  ?" 

"  I  do  not  at  this  moment  remember  who  he  was." 

"I  knew  him,"  said  the  old  man  with  emotion.  "I 
knew  him  for  many,  many  years.  I  have  talked  with  him 
for  hours  when  he  was  a  refugee  in  London.  I  have 
talked  with  him  here  in  Switzerland,  here  where  he  died. 
He  was  a  demi-god.  The  mould  in  which  he  was  made 
was  broken  when  he  was  created." 

"  "Well,"  said  Stanislas,  peevishly,  "  why  do  you  not 
at  once  explain  to  Mr.  Merrinott  that  Michael  Bakounin 
was  the  founder  of  that  doctrine  which  the  world  calls 
Nihilism?" 

"  Ah  !  ha !  "  said  the  old  man.  "  Nihilism  is  a  phrase, 
which  is  often  enough  misused,  and  which  allows  of  a 
thousand  misunderstandings.  Michael  Bakounin  used 
no  such  clumsy  Latin.  He  was  no  phrase-monger ;  but 
he  planted  in  the  souls  of  certain  men  and  women  the 
conviction  that  there  must  be  a  new  world,  founded  upon 
the  ruins  of  the  old  one,  and  that  those  men  and  women 
must  be  filled  with  the  fury  for  destruction  of  the  old  forms 
in  order  that  they  or  their  successors  might  have  the 
delight  of  creating  new  and  be'tter  ones.  He  impressed 
it  upon  all  that  the  destruction  must  come.  His  was  no 
narrow  doctrine,  applied  to  a  corner  of  Europe ;  it  was 
for  the  whole  world,  and  is  as  good  for  you,  my  son,  as  for 
me."  The  ancient  Polish  Jew  spoke  passionately,  and  his 
eyes  lighted  up  his  face  with  the  expression  which  Pleasant 


138  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

had  observed  when  he  had  first  seen  him  through  the  open 
door. 

"Yes,"  said  Stanislas,  catching  some  ashes  from  the 
end  of  Ids  cigarette  in  his  left  hand,  and  tossing  them 
lightly  away,  "  I  think  that  it  was  a  mistake  to  call 
Bakounin  a  Nihilist.  The  term  did  not  define  the  nature 
of  the  man.  He  was  a  magnificent  optimist." 

"  Destruction,  my  son,"  continued  the  old  man,  without 
noticing  the  remark  by  Stanislas,  "Destruction  was  his 
primary  aim.  First  that,  then  the  rebuilding.  And  that 
is  the  doctrine  which  you  ought  to  help  to  carry  out  if 
you  wish  to  see  wrongs  righted  and  the  people  triumphant. 
It  is  of  no  use  to  dream  of  reforming  society.  Mow  it 
down  —  it  cumbers  the  ground  !  " 

Pleasant  was  astonished  at  the  energy  and  earnestness 
of  the  Jew.  He  recoiled  a  little  from  the  forcible  expres- 
sion of  sentiments  which  he  had  himself  now  and  then 
momentarily,  but  never  very  seriously,  entertained.  He 
looked  at  each  of  the  trio  as  if  he  expected  three  answers 
to  the  questions  which  he  finally  asked  — 

"  And  how  and  when  is  the  great  explosion  which  is  to 
destroy  Russian  society  to  take  place?  Will  you  not  find 
your  programme  difficult  to  carry  out?  " 

The  Jew  smiled  triumphantly,  and  took  from  its  con- 
cealment the  small  and  shining  mechanism  of  which  he 
seemed  so  proud.  He  held  it  up,  so  that  the  light  rested 
once  more  upon  it  for  a  moment ;  then  he  moved  away  to 
a  corner  with  it,  and  placed  it  in  a  shadowed  nook. 

"  You  have  seen  the  clock  of  destiny,"  he  said.  "  When 
you  hear  that  it  has  struck  the  hour  of  the  destruction, 
remember  that  you  once  saw  it  in  old  Ignatius's  hands.  I 
have  spent  a  lifetime  upon  it.  When  it  strikes  the  earth 
will  shake,  and  Russian  society  will  relapse  into  the  chaos 
out  of  which  it  sprang.  Let  us  say  no  more  about  it." 
And  he  glanced  around  the  miserable  room  again,  as  if 


THE   DISCIPLES   OF   BAKOUNIN.  139 

he  expected  to  see  a  regiment  of  soldiers  march  through 
the  wall. 

"You  are  more  than  usually  nervous  to-day,  Ignatius," 
said  Vera.  "  Have  you  seen  anything  to  justify  all  this 
apprehension?  " 

"What  is  there  to  fear?"  inquired  Pleasant.  "Are 
you  in  any  danger  in  Switzerland?  Are  you  not  at  liberty 
to  talk  as  you  please  in  this  free  country  ?  ' ' 

"We  are  always  in  danger  of  expulsion,"  remarked 
Vera.  "The  Russian  Government  has  many  agents  in 
Switzerland,  and  they  are  not  idle.  And  I  fear  that  if  the 
nature  of  Ignatius's  mechanical  labours  were  known,  he 
would  not  be  long  at  liberty.  He  does  not  tremble  for 
himself,  but  quakes  with  terror  when  he  thinks  that  the 
precious  machine  may  be  confiscated  before  it  has  done  its 
work.  As  for  Stanislas  and  myself,  we  dread  discovery 
chiefly  because  it  would  impair  our  usefulness.  We  are 
not  suspected  of  any  connection  with  the  revolutionary 
movement  in  Russia,  and  we  therefore  communicate 
readily  with  persons  who  are  in  that  country  and  at  work 
for  us.  If  we  were  discovered,  they  would  be  found  out, 
and  you  have  perhaps  heard  how  conspirators  are  punished 
in  Russia.  Besides,  it  is  our  duty  to  cloak  our  move- 
ments, for  we  do  not  know  at  what  moment  the  revolu- 
tionary committee  may  call  us  to  enter  the  Russian 
Empire  for  work  there,  and  we  should  be  mortified  to  be 
arrested  at  the  frontier,  on  the  report  of  some  police  spy 
domiciled  in  Switzerland." 

"  Yes,  mortified  first,  and  marched  off  to  Siberia  on 
foot  next,  if  not  hanged  outright,"  said  Stanislas.  "  We 
are  wise  to  take  precautions,  you  see  !  " 

"Precautions !  "  said  Pleasant.  "Excuse  me  for  saying 
that  you  seem  to  me  to  have  been  extremely  incautious,  in 
my  case  at  least.  You  have  told  me  your  secret,  and  yet 
you  have  no  guarantee  that  I  will  not  betray  you." 


140  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

"Your  face  is  your  guarantee,  Mr.  Merrinott,"  said 
the  musician.  "  Your  face  and  your  race.  Your  interest 
lies  with  us.  Fate  has  brought  you  to  our  door.  Fate 
intends  that  we  shall  work  together.  You  will  not  betray 
us.  See,  even  Ignatius,  who  distrusts  his  own  knife  and 
fork,  believes  in  you.  We  receive  you  as  our  friend. 
Your  sentiments  are  ours.  The  words  which  you  spoke  in 
the  garden  at  Meiringen  were  almost  the  exact  formula  of 
our  revolutionists.  Come,  Mr.  Merrinott,  we  will  not  ask 
you  to  own  yourself  a  conspirator,  but  I  think  you  must 
confess  that  you  are  a  good  disciple  of  the  lamented 
Bakounin!  " 

"Perhaps  I  am,"  said  Pleasant,  who  was  watching 
Vera,  as  she  inhaled  the  smoke  of  her  fragrant  cigarette. 
He  was  giddy  and  excited ;  the  air  of  the  room  seemed 
poisoned  ;  he  longed  for  a  breath  of  the  cool  breeze  from 
the  hills.  He  was  greatly  relieved  when  the  lady  arose 
and  said  — 

"  I  will  leave  the  house  first,  and  by  the  passage  to  the 
left.  Perhaps  Mr.  Merrinott  will  do  well  to  go  about  ten 
minutes  afterwards,  taking  the  right;  and  you,  Brother 
Stanislas,  can  come  along  later.  We  shall  meet  again, 
Mr.  Merrinott;  good  day." 

The  Jew  held  the  door  open  for  her,  and  she  vanished 
airily  into  the  shadows. 

"  And  now,  my  dear  Indian,"  said  the  musician,  "  we 
will  drop  conspiracy  for  the  present.  Forget  what  we 

have  said  for  a  time,  and  when  you  call  upon  us  

You  will  not  leave  Berne  to-day?  " 

"  No,  not  for  some  days,  perhaps." 

"Then  come  and  see  us  at  that  address"  (he  handed 
him  a  card)  "  to-morrow  afternoon,  if  you  feel  inclined. 
We  will  have  some  music  ;  and  should  we  chance  to  meet 
an}'  of  our  friends  from  Meiringen,  remember  that  I  am  in 
Berne  to  visit  my  sister,  who  is  studying  here  —  for  a  day 


THE  DISCIPLES   OF   BAKOUNIN.  141 

or  two  only,  and  that  my  sudden  decision  not  to  go  to 
London  was  due  to  my  desire  to  spend  some  time  with 
her.  An  artistic  caprice,  eh  !  I  think  you  can  make  my 
excuses,  in  case  we  happen  to  meet  the  Harrelstons,  or 
Miss  Caro  and  her  mother,  can  you  not  ?  ' ' 

"You  will  be  able  to  make  your  own  explanations,  I 
am  sure,"  said  the  Indian.  He  took  the  green  paper  which 
he  had  found  on  the  stairs  of  the  hotel  at  Meiringen  from 
his  pocket,  and  handed  it  to  the  musician.  "I  suppose 
you  have  not  missed  this,"  he  said.  "  Allow  me  to  return 
it  to  you." 

Stanislas  took  the  letter,  and  looked  keenly  into  Pleas- 
ant's  frank  open  eyes.  "Thank  you,"  he  said,  with  his 
disagreeable  smile.  "I  am  glad  it  was  one  of  us  who 
picked  this  up." 

Pleasant  was  glad  when  he  got  away  from  Stanislas, 
after  he  had  promised  to  call  upon  him  the  next  day,  and 
was  once  more  under  the  open  sky.  He  returned  as  fast 
as  he  could  to  the  high  cathedral  platform,  and  sat  down 
beneath  the  trees.  The  more  he  reflected  upon  the  con- 
duct of  Stanislas  and  the  lady  called  Vera,  the  more  inex- 
plicable it  seemed  to  him.  What  could  they  have  hoped 
to  gain  by  thrusting  their  confidence  upon  him?  He 
remained  absorbed  in  reflection  until  the  shadows  began 
to  fall  on  the  far-away  mountains,  and  he  was  surprised 
to  find  that  the  destructive  theories  of  Bakounin  were 
constantly  uppermost  in  his  mind. 


CHAPTER 

IN   THE    CATHEDRAL. 

WHEN  Pleasant  returned  at  last  to  the  hotel,  and  ordered 
his  supper  —  for  the  young  Indian  refused  definitely  to 
adopt  the  civilized  habit  of  dining  at  six  o'clock  —  the 
waiter  offered  him  a  ticket  for  the  evening  organ  concert 
at  the  cathedral.  Pleasant  took  the  modest  cardboard 
abstractedly,  paid  for  it  without  looking  at  it,  put  it  in  his 
pocket,  and  forgot  it  entirely  until,  an  hour  later,  he  went 
out  to  stroll  in  the  town.  The  sky  was  not  dull,  and  the 
air  was  warm,  but  Pleasant,  who  was  weather-wise,  felt 
that  a  storm  was  at  hand.  The  mighty  Alps  had  with- 
drawn behind  their  curtain.  Pleasant  went  through  the 
narrow  streets  and  across  the  little  squares  to  the  cathe- 
dral platform,  hoping  that  he  might  catch  one  more 
glimpse  of  the  snow-clad  peaks,  and  he  was  disappointed 
when  he  found  that  the}'  had  vanished.  He  was  about  to 
take  his  old  place  on  the  stone  bench,  and  to  fall  into 
reverie  again,  when  he  thought  of  the  concert. 

As  soon  as  the  darkness  had  fallen,  he  went  into  the 
cathedral,  and  walking  down  the  long  aisle,  found  a  seat 
in  a  dark  corner,  where  he  could  lean  against  one  of  the 
huge  reading-desks.  A  few  tourists  were  scattered  over 
the  wilderness  of  benches,  and  a  suppressed  twitter,  like 
that  of  birds  in  their  nests  at  twilight,  informed  him  that 

142 


IN   THE   CATHEDRAL.  143 

there  were  women  in  the  audience.  Presently  a  Russian 
family,  consisting  of  a  picturesque  mamma,  three  daugh- 
ters, representing  as  many  different  shades 'of  complexion 
and  costume,  and  a  tall,  whiskered  papa,  came  so  near  to 
Pleasant  that  he  could  observe  them.  Then  a  heavy- 
footed  English  squire,  with  a  tall  wife  in  yellow  ulster  and 
a  pea-green  head-dress  which  was  a  species  of  compromise 
between  a  turban  and  a  night-cap,  went  past  the  Indian. 
Two  American  boys,  redolent  of  cigarettes,  and  "chaff- 
ing" the  solemnity  of  the  cathedral  in  audible  tones,  wan- 
dered hither  and  yon  as  freely  as  if  they  were  in  a  railway 
station.  Lastly,  and  just  as  Pleasant  had  almost  decided 
to  close  his  eyes  and  shut  out  these  intruders  from  his  vis- 
ion, he  heard  a  loud  whisper  on  the  other  side  of  the  desk. 

"I  tell  you,  Caro,"  said  the  voice,  "I  see  Stanislas 
com  in'  up  the  little  hill  from  the  river,  not  ten  minutes 
after  we  got  to  the  hotel.  I  was  lookin'  out  of  the  winder 
in  search  of  them  mountains  't  they  say  }*ou  can  see  from 
here,  but  that  nobody  most  never  does  see,  and  my  eyes 
fell  on  to  him.  I  don't  believe  he  had  any  idee  of  goiii' 
to  London.  There's  somethin'  queer  about  that  young 
man,  Caro,  and  I  think  if  he  can't  explain  himself  we 
must  manage  to  see  less  of  him." 

"  Genius  is  always  eccentric,  mother." 

"  Genius  don't  need  to  tell  lies,  does  it?  I  don't  care 
about  this  particular  time,  'cause  it  ain't  none  of  our 
business  whether  he  goes  to  London  or  not;  but  his 
actions  only  make  me  cling  on  firmer  'n  ever  to  the  sus- 
picions that  I've  had  of  him  from  the  very  first  time  that 
I  set  eyes  on  him." 

"  It  seems  to  me,  mother,  that  you  find  pleasure  in 
suspecting  every  foreigner ' ' 

"  So  I  do,  and  they  deserve  it,  especially  the  men. 
An'  I  tell  you,  once  for  all,  Caro  Merlin,  that  when  we 
get  back  to  Paris,  I  ain't  goiii'  to  have  any  more  of  them 


144  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

black-moustached,  bowin',  and  scrapin'  fellers  around. 
Now  remember  that !  It's  bad  enough  for  my  daughter 
to  have  to  associate  with  them  that  teaches  music  without 
bavin'  any  of  the  useless  sort  about  her.  If  you're  begin- 
nin'  to  think  that  American  young  men  ain't  good  enough 
for  you,  I  think  you'd  better  go  home  right  now,  before 
you  get  your  taste  spiled ;  that's  what  I  think  ! ' ' 

u  Dear  me,  ma,"  whispered  Caro,  "you  needn't  be  so 
emphatic.  Perhaps  if  the  American  young  men  took  a 
little  more  trouble  to  present  themselves,  I  should  find 
them  agreeable  enough.  But  you  must  admit  that  we 
don't  see  much  of  them." 

Mrs.  Merlin  made  no  answer  to  this,  for  it  coincided 
exactly  with  her  own  observation.  But  a  moment  after- 
wards she  said  — 

"  There's  no  men  like  American  men.  They  don't  bow 
and  scrape  so  much  as  foreigners,  but  they  won't  crowd 
a  woman  off  from  the  side-walk  into  the  mud,  and  they 
don't  treat  us  as  if  we  was  inferiors.  Then  look  at  their 
style!  Now,  there's  the  Injun  —  Mr.  Merrinott  —  he's 
what  I  call  a  man!  What  say?" 

These  last  two  words  were  whispered  in  a  louder  key 
than  the  others,  and  in  a  defiant  manner,  as  if  Mrs.  Mer- 
lin were  already  anticipating  dissent  from  her  proposition, 
and  had  determined  to  meet  it  half-way. 

"Mr.  Merrinott  is  manly  enough,  mother,"  observed 
Caro,  "  but  then  he's  provincial.  You  can  see  it  in  his 
language,  and  his  clothes,  and  his  manners  —  downright 
provincial " 

"  Provincial  granny  !  "  interrupted  Mrs.  Merlin.  "  So 
are  you,  and  so  be  I  —  and  I  hope  we  always  will  be.  I 
declare,  Caro,  I  have  a  good  mind  to  take  you  right 
straight " 

"  Ma  !  don't  you  hear  the  music?     Sh — h !  " 

Pleasant  was  amused  at  this  conversation,  which  he 


IN  THE   CATHEDRAL*  145 

could  not  help  overhearing.  He  was  glad,  too,  that  he 
had  heard  Miss  Caro's  criticism.  Provincial !  that  meant 
common  and  vulgar,  probably ;  at  least,  it  was  evident 
that  he  did  not  compare  favourably  with  the  polished  and 
accomplished  gentlemen  whom  Miss  Merlin  was  accus- 
tomed to  meet,  and  for  whom  her  mother  appeared  to 
entertain  much  contempt.  The  Indian  found  himself 
thinking  of  Alice,  and  wondering  if  she  had  made  the 
same  remark.  Alice !  Had  she  left  Meiringen  with  Mrs. 
Merlin  and  her  daughter?  Perhaps  she  was  in  the  cathe- 
dral at  that  moment,  and  he  could  see  her  —  be  near  her 
once  more.  The  thought  filled  him  with  delight,  and  he 
listened  to  the  organ's  eloquence  with  a  sense  of  content- 
ment quite  new  to  him.  After  the  concert  he  would  meet 
the  Merlins  at  the  door,  and  from  them  would  ask  news  of 
Alice  and  her  mother.  Now  he  was  glad  that  his  Indian 
frieuds  had  asked  him  to  remain  in  Europe  for  the  present. 

Pleasant  thought  that  the  music  which  came  drifting 
down  from  the  organ-loft  seemed  strangely  familiar  to 
him.  It  was  full  of  echoes  from  the  mountains,  the 
torrents,  the  wind-swept  valleys,  the  grassy  plains,  the 
wooded  and  rocky  glens.  Caro  but  expressed  his  own 
thought,  when  she  whispered  to  her  mother,  just  as  a 
thunderous  burst  of  harmony  was  succeeded  by  a  gently 
melodious  ripple  — 

"That's  Stanislas  at  the  organ,  and  he's  playing  his 
new  Grimsel  Symphony." 

The  Indian  heard  Caro's  whisper,  and  his  interest  in 
the  music  at  once  became  intense.  The  new  light  which 
had  been  cast  upon  the  character  of  Stanislas  by  his  unex- 
pected interview  with  Pleasant  that  afternoon  gave  every- 
thing which  the  musician  did  an  added  interest  and 
importance  in  the  Indian's  eyes.  Had  Stanislas  two  souls 
—  one  filled  with  tender  love  for  nature  and  endowed  with 
almost  infinite  capacity  for  expressing  her  charm,  her 


146  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

beauty,  her  mystery ;  the  other  discontented,  angry  with 
the  world  and  its  follies  and  meannesses,  and  hungry  for 
a  vast  social  reform  to  be  inaugurated  only  after  the  old 
order  of  things  had  been  swept  back  into  the  chaos  whence 
it  sprang  ?  Into  which  had  the  man  put  all  the  terrible 
sincerity  of  which  he  was  capable  —  his  art,  or  his  doctrine 
of  destruction?  In  his  music  he  seemed  to  say  that  life 
was  sweet,  that  clouds,  suns,  stars,  imperial  mountains  and 
delicious  vales,  the  odours  of  wild  plants,  and  the  colours 
of  stony  crags  were  all  parts  of  a  grand  harmony  which 
he  enjoyed  and  adored.  Would  he  bring  into  this  har- 
monious symphony  any  complaint,  any  protest  against 
man  and  men's  injustice?  Pleasant  listened  in  vain  for 
the  slightest  hint  of  discontent.  It  was  probable  that 
Stanislas  established  a  broad  distinction  between  the 
physical  and  the  social  world ;  that  he  adored  the  former 
with  a  passionate  fervour  which  was  quite  pagan,  and  that 
he  hated  the  latter,  and  sought  refuge  from  the  very 
thought  of  it  in  the  contemplation  of  the  eternal  hills  and 
the  unapproachable  dome  of  the  sky.  So  thought  Pleasant 
as  he  listened,  and,  thinking  thus,  his  respect  for  the 
musician  increased. 

The  symphony  was  too  long  for  a  concert  intended 
mainly  for  the  display  of  a  great  organ's  capacities  to  a 
party  of  impatient  tourists,  and  Stanislas  —  who  had  stolen 
into  the  organ-loft>  and  requested  the  favour  of  playing 
one  piece  —  stopped  short  in  the  midst  of  the  superb  theme, 
and  yielded  his  place  to  the  bewildered  musician,  who  was 
accustomed  to  play  Mendelssohn's  "Wedding  March," 
.and  a  "Storm  in  the  Alps,"  with  imitation  of  the  Alp- 
horn,  but  who  had  never,  in  his  best  moments,  dreamed 
of  such  grand  and  imaginative  flights  as  those  of  Stanislas. 
While  the  regular  organist  went  tranquilly  through  his 
accustomed  task,  Stanislas  stood  looking  down  upon  the 
scattered  audience,  and  nervously  straining  his  eyes  at  the 


IN   THE   CATHEDRAL.  147 

blackness  below.  The  creative  mood  was  upon  him  ;  he 
felt  a  regret  that  he  had  left  the  organ,  and  an  almost 
irresistible  desire  to  ask  permission  to  return  to  it. 

Circumstances  aided  him.  Just  as  a  murmur  of  ad- 
miration arose  from  the  listeners  at  the  close  of  the  con- 
ventional piece  in  which  the  Ranz  des  Vaches  is  introduced, 
and  the  whistling  of  winds  and  fall  of  avalanches  are 
imitated,  a  real  storm  broke  with  fury  over  the  city  of 
Berne,  and  raged  about  the  old  church  and  its  lofty 
"  platform  "  and  towers  with  startling  vehemence.  Pleas- 
ant was  delighted  ;  his  soul  rejoiced  in  this  apparent  pro- 
test of  Nature  against  the  efforts  of  an  ordinary  man  to 
imitate  her  grand  effects.  Stanislas  interpreted  correctly 
and  with  sufficient  impressiveness  ;  but  this  feebler  and 
less  learned  man  who  had  endeavoured  to  pourtray  storm 
and  calm  was  rendered  ridiculous  by  contrast  with  the  real 
excitement  of  the  elements.  The  organist  had  the  good 
sense  not  to  begin  another  selection  while  the  wind  and 
the  lightning  and  the  echoes  of  the  thunder  were  engross- 
ing the  attention  of  his  audience.  Now  came  a  flash  which 
brought  out  in  clear  and  forcible  splendour,  for  an 
instant,  against  .the  background  of  darkness,  the  richly 
coloured  figures  in  the  stained-glass  windows  in  the  choir ; 
and  now  a  great  wind  seemed  to  shake  the  walls  of  the 
church.  Then  came  the  patter  of  rain,  and  then  crackling 
thunder  which  made  the  Russian  mamma  and  her  daughters 
cross  themselves,  and  which  prompted  Caro  to  whisper 
nervously  — 

"Isn't  it  magnificent,  mother?  It's  like  the  day  of 
judgment !  See  !  You  might  imagine  that  those  figures 
of  the  apostles  and  prophets  in  the  stalls,  over  yonder, 
when  the  lightning  brings  them  out  so  vividly,  are  spring- 
ing up  to  answer  the  signal  for  resurrection !  Oh !  if 
Stanislas  would  only  play  again  !  " 

"It'll  be  dretful  walkin'  back  to  the  hotel,"  remarked 


148  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

Mrs.  Merlin,  who  did  not  share  her  daughter's  fancies, 
and  who  was  distressed  because  she  had  not  brought  her 
umbrella. 

"Don't  be  so  prosaic,  ma!"  said  the  girl,  speaking 
aloud  in  her  vexation.  "If  you  dou't  find  this  romantic, 
I  shall  believe  there  is  no  poetry  in  your  soul !  " 

"  There  ain't,  not  the  least  leetle  drop.  I  give  it  all  to 
you  when  you  was  born,"  responded  the  mother,  meekly  ; 
"  and  all  I  hope  is  that  you  won't  let  your  romantic  notions 
run  away  with  your  common  sense.  My  goodness  !  ain't 
it  never  goin'  to  stop  rainin'  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  wish  it  would  rain  for  ever,  and  that  the  wind 
would  roar  on  for  a  hundred  }-ears,  and  that  the  lightning 
would  flash,  flash,  flash  !  "  whispered  Caro,  excitedly.  "  If 
I  were  a  genius  like  Stanislas,  how  I  should  love  to  sit  up 
there  in  the  organ-loft  and  answer  back  thunder  with 
peal  after  peal  from  the  grand  old  pipes  and  keys  !  Ah  ! 
how  glad  I  am  !  How  grand  !  He  is  going  to  play  again ! 
It  takes  a  storm  to  rouse  the  soul  of  Stanislas !  " 

Caro  arose,  her  face  pale  and  her  eyes  dilated,  and  if 
her  mother  had  not  plucked  at  her  skirts,  and  peevishly 
besought  her  not  "to  make  a  fool  of  herself,"  she  might 
perhaps  have  burst  forth  into  song,  for  she  was  under  the 
influence  of  a  strange  excitement,  which  rendered  her 
insensible  to  mere  proprieties.  Mrs.  Merlin  trembled  when 
she  saw  Caro  in  otae  of  these  exalted  moods.  At  such 
times  her  daughter  seemed  to  pass  beyond  her  control,  and 
to  be  insensible  to  reason.  In  these  moments  Mrs.  Merlin 
adored  her  daughter,  but  hampered  the  girl's  spirit  most 
cruelly  with  cautious,  wise  sayings,  and  sharp  remarks 
intended  to  bring  her  down  from  the  ideal  realm  into 
which  she  had  arisen  to  the  plainer  and  less  dangerous 
regions  of  reality. 

"Sit  down,  child,"  said  Mrs.  Merlin;  "you  make 
my  bones  ache  when  you  jump  about  so.  I  wish  to 


IN  THE   CATHEDEAL.  149 

goodness  we  hadn't  come  here.  You'll  be  worn  out  to- 
morrow !  " 

She  hushed  the  hoarse  whisper  in  which  she  was 
uttering  these  remarks,  for  Caro  sat  down,  and  with  an 
imperative  gesture  commanded  silence.  Her  eyes  had  a 
far-away  look,  like  those  of  one  who  walks  abroad  in 
a  dream ;  her  lips  were  slightly  parted ;  her  hands  were 
clenched.  The  rushing  wind  outside  made  one  or  two 
violent  sallies  agaiust  the  walls  of  the  old  cathedral,  and 
then  seemed  to  retire  discomfited.  The  rain  went  on  with 
the  wind,  and  their  splendid  heralds,  the  lightning  and  the 
thunder,  preceded  them.  The  storm  had  passed  beyond 
the  church  and  the  high  stone  "platform,"  and  swept 
down  upon  the  river  valley. 

Caro  was  right  in  supposing  that  Stanislas  had  taken 
his  seat  at  the  organ  once  more.  In  the  frenzy  of  his 
desire  for  expression,  this  noble  artist,  whose  imagination 
ran  riot  whether  he  swept  his  lithe  fingers  over  the  keys 
of  a  piano,  or  trod  the  pedals  and  handled  the  stops  of  an 
organ,  forgot  the  audience,  the  organist,  who  stood  humbly 
at  his  side,  the  time,  the  place,  everything,  except  the  voices 
in  his  soul.  With  skill  and  emphasis  he  outlined  in  a  few 
broad  preliminary  phrases  the  subject  which  he  wished  to 
create,  and  then,  plunging  madly  into  his  work,  he  poured 
forth  for  more  than  half  an  hour  his  new  improvisation. 
The  listeners  quickly  perceived  that  it  was  no  ordinary 
man  who,  thus  departing  from  the  usual  limits  of  the 
concert,  had  entered  upon  a  second  grand  morceau,  for  few 
of  them  thought  that  it  was  to  be  anything  else,  and  they 
pricked  up  their  ears.  When  they  discovered  that  Stanis- 
las was  reproducing  the  glories  of  the  storm  which  had 
just  passed  over  the  church,  they  were  amazed,  and  the 
complete  success  with  which  he  rendered  the  effects  of 
nature  almost  frightened  the  devout  among  the  women, 
who  feared  that  a  wizard  was  at  the  organ.  Pleasant  was 


150  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

deeply  impressed ;  he  felt  that  Nature  had  challenged 
Stanislas  to  a  test  of  grandeur,  and  that  the  musician  had 
fearlessly  accepted  the  challenge.  As  the  player  drew 
near  the  close  of  his  interpretation  he  interwove  bits  of 
melody  with  the  wandering  voices  of  the  wind  and  the 
rain,  and  soothed  the  spirits  of  those  whom  he  had  so 
strangely  excited.  But  this  was  done  in  order  to  render 
more  imposing  the  surprise  which  he  had  prepared  for  the 
final  passage.  It  was  massive,  tremendous,  filled  with 
thunderous  bursts  which  seemed  to  Caro's  heated  imagina- 
tion to  shake  the  cathedral ;  with  discordant  cries  of 
despairing  spirits ;  with  melodious  trumpet-blasts  of  an- 
gelic hosts ;  with  majestic  marches  of  supernatural  bat- 
talions ;  with  fugues  fit  to  express  the  wailing  of  the  lost 
millions ;  and  with  chants  which  seemed  to  drift  down- 
ward from  the  inner  and  unseen  heavens. 

"  I  knew  it !  I  knew  it !  "  whispered  Caro,  grasping  her 
mother's  hand.  "  It's  the  Day  of  Judgment  that  he's 
describing.  It  couldn't  be  anything  else." 

"Mercy  on  us!  the  girl's  mad!"  cried  Mrs.  Merlin, 
quite  forgetting  her  caution. 

But  no  one  heard  her,  for  Stanislas  drowned  every 
other  sound  at  that  moment  under  the  organ  thunder  — 
playing  two  or  three  more  wild,  short  passages,  which 
might  have  been  thought  to  indicate  the  final  disruption  of 
the  heavens  and  the  earth,  and  their  return  to  primal 
chaos.  Then,  jumping  down  from  the  stool,  he  was  half 
way  out  of  the  organ-loft  before  his  alarmed  fellow- 
musician  had  made  up  his  mind  whether  this  strange  man 
were  angel  or  fiend. 

The  audience  sat  spell-bound  for  a  minute  or  two,  then 
arose,  and  began  to  move  slowly  towards  the  door,  as  if 
there  could  not  possibly  be  anything  more  on  the  pro- 
gramme  after  all  that  they  had  just  heard.  Pleasant, 
from  his  shaded  corner,  was  surprised  to  see  Mrs.  Merlin 


IN  THE  CATHEDKAL.  151 

clinging  to  Caro's  arm,  and  chiding  her  most  ener- 
getically. 

The  girl's  face  was  white.  "Let  me  go,  mother," 
she  said,  hoarsely.  "  Don't  stop  me  now.  You  may  scold 
me  later.  I  must  go  to  him.  I  must  tell  him  —  I  must 
praise  him.  Come  !  can't  you  see  that  he  is  a  demi-god, 
a  genius?  Oh,  mother,  you  haven't  the  slightest  particle 
of  artistic  sense  !  " 

Mrs.  Merlin  released  her  hold  on  her  daughter's  arm, 
and  sank  back  on  the  bench.  She  looked  at  Caro  for  a 
moment,  then,  bursting  into  tears,  she  sobbed  — 

"  Dear  me,  Caro,  you'll  worry  me  to  death !  You 
think  your  poor  old  mother  hasn't  got  no  poetry,  nor  no 
artistic  sense,  nor  no  no-o-othin',  an'  you  leave  her  to 
run  away  after  a  foolish  foreign  musician,  just  because 
you  think  he's  ben  playin'  the  Judgment  Day !  I'm 
astonished  that  you  —  you  —  you  should  be  so  wicked ! 
Caro  !  Come  h<;re  to  me  !  " 

Caro  drew  herself  up  to  her  full  height,  and  gazed  at 
her  lachrymose  mamma  with  a  curious  expression  of 
mingled  tenderness  and  scorn. 

"  This  is  the  second  time,  mother,"  she  said,  "  that  you 
have  shown  distrust  of  me.  I  hope  it  will  be  the  last." 
She  was  still  greatly  excited,  and  her  eyes  sparkled. 

Pleasant,  looking  out  from  his  shaded  seclusion,  thought 
that  she  made  a  pretty  picture. 

"  But,  daughter,  I  don't  like  to  see  you  give  way  to 
your  feelin's  so  —  so  dretfully.  It  makes  me  all  of  a 
tremble.  Good  gracious  !  there's  Stanislas  now,  comin' 
down  the  aisle,  with  another  man  with  a  lantern,  showin' 
him  around.  I  suppose  now  we  shall  have  to  speak  to 
him." 

She  rose  and  went  to  meet  him.  Caro  stood  looking 
after  her  mother  as  the  good  soul  greeted  Stanislas.  "  It 
ia  strange,"  whispered  the  girl,  "that  mother  should 


152  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

suddenly  be  so  absurd  about  Stanislas !  Poor  old  ma ! 
I  wonder  what  she  thought  he  made  the  organ  say." 

Stanislas  came  striding  up  to  her  a  minute  later,  and 
had  taken  her  hand  and  held  it  gently  for  an  instant 
before  Mrs.  Merlin  could  overtake  him. 

"It  was  grand,"  said  the  girl.  "It  was  wonderful. 
I  thought  I  saw  the  earth  open,  and  the  dead  rise,  and 
the  heavens  unrolled.  It  was  the  Judgment  that  you 
described  at  the  close,  wasn't  it?  " 

The  musician  gave  her  a  look  of  delighted  surprise. 

"Of  course  it  was.  The  text  of  my  symphony  is 
written  in  stone  over  the  door  of  the  cathedral.  The 
Day  of  Judgment  in  stone.  I  studied  the  quaint  groups 
for  a  whole  hour  yesterday ;  and  then  that  storm  scene 
to-night  seemed  to  inspire  me !  How  kind,  how  sym- 
pathetic you  were  to  understand  me  !  Mrs.  Merlin,  your 
daughter  always  comprehends  me  ! ' ' 

Caro  said  nothing,  but  stood  trembling  a  little,  with 
her  eyes  cast  down. 

Pleasant  saw  that  it  was  not  a  convenient  time  to 
introduce  himself  anew  to  the  Merlins,  so  he  stole  quietly 
away  through  the  shadows. 

"  And,  now  tell  us,"  said  Mrs.  Merlin,  "  how  it  hap- 
pens that  you  are  not  givin'  concerts  in  London,  instead 
of  scarin'  us  half  to  death  with  Judgment  Days  in  the 
cathedral  at  Berne  ?  ' ' 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

ON   THE   SCHAENZLI. 

NEXT  day  the  sun  shone  forth  gloriously,  and  Pleasant 
awoke  from  a  dream  in  which  Alice,  the  Cherokee  Indians, 
railway  bonds,  organ"  music,  the  sensuous,  passionate  face 
of  Stanislas,  and  the  shrewd,  suspicious  features  of  the  old 
Polish  Jew,  were  strangely  mingled.  While  he  was  dress- 
ing, it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  he  was  not  the  same 
man  who  had  arrived  at  Interlaken,  eager  to  make  his 
bitter  protest  against  the  wrongs  inflicted  on  his  race. 
He  looked  rather  critically  at  his  clothes ;  they  were  a 
trifle  worn,  and  perhaps  "  provincial "  in  cut.  Miss  Caro's 
criticism  burned  in  his  mind.  His  hat,  too,  offended  his 
sense  of  propriety,  and  he  resolved  to  exchange  it  that 
very  morning  for  a  better  one.  He  shook  out  his  long 
black  locks,  inspected  himself  carefully,  and  went  down 
into  the  garden.  The  waiter  who  came  to  serve  him  his 
coffee  was  yawning,  for  it  was  very  early.  He  gave 
Pleasant  a  quizzical  look,  and  said,  in  his  variegated 
English  — 

"  There  was  three  lady  to  inquire  after  Monsieur  last 
night.  They  saw  Monsieur's  name  on  the  register-board." 

"  Three  ladies?     Who  were  they?  " 

The  servant  mentioned  the  names  of  Mrs.  aud  Miss 
Merlin,  and  Miss  Harrelston.  Pleasant  started  so  violently 

153 


154  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

on  learning  that  Alice  had  arrived  in  Berne  that  the 
waiter  grinned,  and  added  — 

' '  The  lady  they  inquire  when  Monsieur  is  going 
away." 

"  I  shall  see  them  to-day,"  said  the  Indian,  in  such  a 
sharp  tone  that  the  grin  faded  from  the  waiter's  face, 
leaving  a  look  of  apprehension  there  instead. 

Pleasant  took  his  light  breakfast  hastily,  then  started 
out  for  a  walk,  his  cheeks  tingling  with  excitement,  and 
his  heart  beating  as  if  he  had  been  engaged  in  a  struggle. 
It  hurt  his  pride  to  think  that  he  must  meet  Alice  again 
after  he  had  bidden  her  good-bye  at  Meiringen,  and  after 
she  had  fancied  him  hastening,  like  a  bold  and  energetic 
crusader,  over  land  and  sea,  on  his  mission. 

He  walked  rapidly  through  the  town  until  he  came  to 
a  great  gate,  on  either  side  of  which  were  statues  of 
colossal  bears  which  seemed  to  regard  him  with  malicious 
air  as  he  passed  near  them.  The  cool  morning  breeze 
dispelled  the  fever  in  his  cheeks,  and  he  began  to  feel 
more  at  ease.  He  crossed  the  Aar  on  a  bridge  hung  high 
above  the  transparent  water,  and  climbed  a  wooded  hill, 
which  the  good  burghers  of  Berne  call  the  "  Schaenzli," 
and  which  they  long  ago  adopted  as  one  of  their  principal 
pleasure  resorts.  It  rises  abruptly  from  the  chain  of 
bluffs  on  the  bank  opposite  the  main  portion  of  the  city, 
and  is  crowned  with  a  delightful  wood,  in  the  shadows  of 
which  the  Bernese  young  men  and  maidens  like  to  wander 
arm-in-arm  in  summer  evenings,  when  the  music  of 
Strauss  and  Gungl  echoes  from  the  terraces  above,  or 
when  the  winds  from  the  snow-clad  mountains  in  the 
distance  bring  a  delicious  coolness  to  the  romantic  knoll. 
At  the  summit  there  is  a  rustic  theatre  and  restaurant 
fronting  upon  a  high  terrace,  from  which  one  can  look 
down  on  Berne  and  the  river,  the  rows  of  ancient  houses 
huddled  together,  the  long  lines  of  poplar  trees,  and  away 


ON  THE   SCHAENZLI.  155 

beyond  the  city  the  sweet  sweep  of  green  and  yellow  fields, 
the  comfortable  broad- roofed  farm  houses,  and  the  Alps, 
white  and  glittering.  Here  in  summer  idlers  of  all 
nations  pass  a  few  pleasant  hours,  lulled  to  reverie  by 
the  breezes,  and  fascinated  by  the  atmosphere  of  perfect 
peace.  The  old  town  of  Berne  seems  to  doze  beside  its 
beloved  Aar ;  there  is  no  whirl  of  machinery,  no  hum  of 
traffic,  no  brawl  of  voices ;  it  rests  the  eyes  of  a  world- 
weary  man  to  look  upon  the  place. 

Pleasant  was  too  young  and  too  inexperienced  to  be 
world-weary,  but  he  enjoyed  the  view  from  the  terrace, 
because  all  the  parts  of  the  picture  were  harmonious  and 
soft  in  colour.  Many  places  in  Europe  offended  his  eye. 
He  thought  —  although  possibly  he  would  have  been  puzzled 
'to  express  his  thought — that  the  uncultivated  and  savage 
nature  of  his  own  Indian  Territory  was  infinitely  superior 
in  beauty  to  the  over-trimmed,  subjugated  valleys  and 
plains  in  some  portions  of  Europe.  The  absence  of  wooded 
hills  and  of  the  luxuriant  forest  growth  of  a  new  country, 
annoyed  him ;  the  land  seemed  naked  and  ashamed.  So, 
too,  he  thought  that  stone  houses,  with  their  cold  fronts 
abutting  directly  upon  the  streets,  and  with  their  windows 
protected  by  iron  bars  and  gratings,  had  an  inhospitable 
air  ;  he  was  much  fonder  of  the  wooden  houses  of  America, 
with  their  inviting  porches  and  their  many-windowed 
sides,  and  their  gardens,  which  needed  no  massive  walls 
garnished  with  broken  glass  and  iron  spikes.  But  Berne 
did  not  impress  him  so  grimly  as  other  European  towns, 
and  he  leaned  over  the  terrace  railing,  and  looked  down 
with  genuine  satisfaction  on  the  hill-sides  dotted  with 
villas  between  patches  of  ferns  and  vineyards,  and  the 
steep  roads  winding  among  rows  of  stout  trees,  and  on 
the  reflections  of  the  old  houses  in  the  water.  There  was 
but  one  thing  needed  to  make  the  scene  perfect  in 
Pleasant' s  view,  and  that  was  the  figure  of  Alice  Har- 


156  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

relston.  If  he  could  but  see  her  as  he  saw  her  for  a 
moment  on  the  slopes  of  the  Brunig,  when  she  raised  her 
eyes  to  meet  his,  and  to  ask  him  about  his  plans  for  the 
future ! 

He  was  half  inclined  to  believe  that  his  Fate  had 
answered  his  prayer,  and  had  sent  Alice  to  the  Schaenzli, 
for,  in  a  corner  of  the  terrace,  with  her  back  turned 
toward  him,  sat  a  young  lady  busily  sketching.  Love  is  a 
strange  enchanter  ;  it  persuades  us  that  we  see  everywhere 
the  object  of  our  adoration  ;  and  the  impulsive  Indian  had 
walked  half-way  to  where  the  lady  sat  before  he  could 
convince  himself  that  it  was  not  Alice.  He  paused  sud- 
denly, for  the  feminine  artist  had  a  quick  ear,  and  although 
Pleasant  had  an  Indian  foot,  and  trod  as  lightly  as  a  deer, 
she  heard  his  step  and  looked  around.  A  shadow  settled 
over  the  young  man's  brow.  He  had  recognized  the 
resolute  young  woman  whom  he  had  met  with  Stanislas 
on  the  previous  day  —  the  energetic  and  mysterious  disciple 
of  Bakounin. 

He  felt  that  he  would  be  glad  to  retreat,  but  it  was 
too  late,  for  the  lady  smiled  pleasantly,  and  gathering  up 
her  sketching  materials  arose  and  held  out  her  hand. 
There  was  a*  bit  of  colour  in  her  cheeks,  which  had 
been  so  colourless  the  day  before  ;  and  the  stern  face  was 
almost  pretty  as  it  welcomed  Pleasant,  with  its  clear  blue 
eyes,  in  which  the  light  of  laughter  was,  however,  some- 
thing like  that  delicate  shimmer  which  hangs  above  the 
crater  of  a  volcano.  Her  simple  straw  hat  had  slipped 
back  from  her  head,  and  disclosed  her  open  brow  —  almost 
too  broad  for  that  of  a  woman,  and  her  thick  hair,  parted 
in  masculine  fashion.  She  greeted  Pleasant  as  unaffectedly 
and  with  as  little  evidence  of  surprise  as  if  he  were  an  old 
friend  whom  she  had  been  expecting  to  meet  at  that  par- 
ticular time  and  place.  He  listened  in  vain  for  any  trace 
of  foreign  accent  in  the  English  which  she  spoke  fluently. 


ON  THE   SCHAENZLI.  157 

The  only  peculiarity  which  would  have  betrayed  her  as  a 
foreigner  was  a  slight  drawl,  not  unpleasant  in  itself,  but 
natural  neither  to  English  nor  Americans.  It  was  not  an 
accent ;  it  was  a  manner. 

They  shook  hands.  Vera's  palm  was  feverish,  but  her 
grasp  was  hearty,  like  that  of  a  man.  This  was  not  a 
feminine,  yielding,  shrinking,  receptive  nature,  but  an  ag- 
gressive, bold,  warm,  self-asserting  one.  It  was  odd  that 
the  moment  the  disciple  of  Bakounin  touched  his  hand  he 
felt  as  if  she  had  a  certain  power  over  him.  It  was  as  if 
she  had  instantaneously  re-established  the  sympathy  which 
had  been  manifested  at  their  first  meeting.  He  was  a 
little  disturbed  at  this  discovery. 

"  Early  abroad,  Mr.  Merrinott,  like  myself,"  she  said, 
merrily.  "  I  am  glad  to  find  that  you  do  not,  like  most 
tourists,  spend  the  best  part  of  your  mornings  in  bed. 
Among  these  Swiss  hills  these  first  hours  of  the  day  are 
sublime.  See!  I  have  been  trying  —  but  oh!  with  such 
poor  success  !  —  to  make  a  small  transcript  of  that  corner 
down  below,  the  houses  and  the  trees  and  the  reflection  — 
see  !  "  And  she  held  up  a  sketch  rather  prettily  executed 
in  water  colours. 

"  I  am  glad,  Miss " 

"  Call  me  Vera  now,"  she  said ;  "that  is,  if  it  does  not 
shock  your  Anglo-Saxon  proprieties  to  do  so.  For  —  you 
remember  —  we  are  comrades  now."  Her  blue  eyes  grew 
stern,  and  the  smile  faded  out  of  them,  but  came  back 
timidly  a  moment  afterwards. 

"Well,  Miss  Vera,"  said  Pleasant,  "I  think  your 
sketch  is  very  good  indeed."  And  he  did  think  so, 
although,  truth  to  tell,  it  was  but  a  sorry  bit  of  art ;  for 
Vera's  mind,  while  she  sketched,  had  been  absorbed  with 
thoughts  quite  foreign  to  the  beauties  of  nature  on  the 
banks  of  the  Aar. 

u  You  flatter  me,"  she  said.     "  Have  you  seen  brother 


158  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

Stanislas  this  morning?  He  gets  out  early,  as  we  do. 
He  is  in  one  of  his  poetic  moods,  with  a  craze  for  com- 
position, and  I  have  given  up  all  hope  of  getting  his 
attention  for  anything  practical  to-day." 

"  No ;  I  heard  him  in  the  cathedral  last  night,  driving 
the  listeners  wild  with  his  strange  fancies." 

"  Yes,  I  saw  you  there,"  said  Vera.  "  I  was  not  far 
from  you,  but  so  enveloped  in  darkness  that  you  did  not 
suspect  my  presence.  I  think  Stanislas  was  half  crazy  or 
half  inspired.  His  music  was  grand.  Do  you  know  "  — 
she  lowered  her  voice  —  "that  when  he  has  been  in  a 
creative  mood  for  a  day  or  two  he  acquires  a  distaste  for 
our  work  —  our  life-work  —  you  understand  what  I  mean 
—  and  sometimes  I  am  inclined  to  be  half  jealous  of  his 
music?  "  She  hesitated  a  moment ;  then,  pulling  her  hat 
forward  on  her  head,  and,  tugging  at  its  ribbons  with  one 
hand,  she  added,  "  For,  possibly,  if  he  did  not  have  music 
as  a  means  of  expressing  his  tremendous  passion,  he  would 
put  mere  force  into  the  work  —  do  you  not  think  so  ?  Or 
do  I  misjudge  him?  They  say  it  is  dangerous  to  be  a 
person  of  one  idea,  and  perhaps  I  am  wrong  in  concen- 
trating all  my  attention  upon — }'ou  understand!  But 
pshaw !  I  can  think  of  nothing  else  —  dream  of  nothing 
else.  —  Do  get  a  chair  and  sit  down,  Mr.  Merrinott." 

Pleasant  obeyed,  mechanically. 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  have  been  thinking  of  that  sketch 
while  I  have^been  making  it?  "  she  said,  scornfully,  hold- 
ing it  up,  as  she  sat  down  again.  "  Not  at  all.  And  of 
what  was  I  thinking?  Of  a  small  village  near  the  Polish 
frontier  of  Russia  —  a  straggling  village  of  one  long 
street,  with  but  few  houses  worthy  of  the  name  of  '  resi- 
dence.' Cabins  —  much  dirt — poverty  sharply  contrasted 
with  a  rude  kind  of  provincial  magnificence.  Snow  on 
the  ground." 

She  stooped  and  laid  her  sketch  upon  the  grass  at  his 


ON   THE   SCHAENZLI.  159 

feet,  and  Pleasant,  looking  at  it,  fancied  that  he  could  see 
the  picture  which  she  was  now  describing  gradually  taking 
the  place  of  the  houses,  graceful  trees,  and  sunlit  water 
which  she  had  copied.  She  went  on  gravely. 

"  In  front  of  one  of  the  houses  is  a  procession  of  men 
and  women,  chained  like  criminals.  And  criminals  they 
are  considered,  because  the  Russian  Government  has 
doomed  them  to  exile.  To  exile  —  and  for  what?  For 
supposed  sympathy  —  only  half  proven  —  with  an  abortive 
Polish  insurrection  along  the  border.  But  not  for  that 
alone,  oh  no !  For  a  graver  offence.  For  filling  the  heads 
of  the  peasants  round  about  with  new  ideas ;  for  telling 
them  some  few  things  about  representative  government, 
and  a  State  in  which  even  the  humblest  individual  can 
have  some  influence  ;  for  preaching  to  them.  Ah  !  And  for 
these  terrible  offences  a  powerful  government  punishes  — 
how  ?  It  comes  into  the  small  village  —  makes  arbitrary 
arrests— imprisons  honest  people  for  months  in  loathsome 
dens.  It  takes  them  from  the  prisons  only  to  condemn 
them  to  exile,  and  to  start  them  in  procession  over  the 
frozen  land  to  Siberia.  Yes ;  I  can  see  that  procession 
now.  And  why  do  I  see  it  —  why  is  it  before  my  eyes 
night  and  day  ?  Because  my  father  and  mother  are  in  it, 
and  my  mother  is  chained  by  the  wrist  to  a  woman  who 
is  guilty  of  a  vile  crime  —  of  the  murder  of  her  babe  ! ' ' 

Vera's  face  was  white.  She  had  not  raised  her  voice 
above  a  low  tone,  but  Pleasant  heard  every  word  dis- 
tinctly. 

"  That  was  many  years  ago,"  she  said.  "  But  the 
colours  of  that  picture  are  still  fresh  in  my  mind.  The 
monstrous  injustice  of  that  exile  are  always  in  my 
thought.  And  that  is  but  one  of  many  instances.  The 
same  policy  is  still  pursued ;  the  same  remorseless  crush- 
ing forces  are  at  work.  Do  you  wonder  that  we  believe 
in  Bakounin?  "' 


160  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  it  does  not  astonish  me.  I  only 
think  that  you  will  find  his  doctrines  hard  to  carry  out." 

"  And  what  would  you  do?  "  said  Vera,  with  a  certain 
scorn  in  her  voice,  "  if  you  had  such  an  injustice  as  that 
of  which  I  have  told  you  to  complain  of  ?  " 

Pleasant  looked  at  her  steadfastly.  "  I  can  tell  you  of 
a  greater  injustice  than  that,"  he  answered.  "  I  can  tell 
you  of  a  procession  of  thousands  of  men,  women,  and 
children,  forcibly  removed  from  lands  in  America  that 
belonged  to  them,  and  driven,  in  dreary  procession,  hun- 
dreds on  hundreds  of  miles  from  the  homes  which  they 
had  learned  to  love,  and  packed  like  cattle  on  new 
territory  assigned  to  them.  I  can  tell  you  of  the  people 
of  my  race  dispossessed  of  their  own  by  greedy  strangers, 
who  have  never  taken  the  trouble  to  improve  or  cultivate 
one-half  of  the  country  from  which  they  drove  those 
whom  they  were  pleased  to  call  savages.  I  can  tell  you 
of  the  broken  hearts  of  men  who  loved  their  mountains 
and  valleys  as  women  love  their  children.  I  can  tell  of 
the  mothers  who  fainted  and  died  on  the  way  into  exile. 
I  reckon  my  grief  is  as  great  as  yours,  for  injustice  and 
exile  are  bitter  in  America,  for  Indians  driven  against  their 
will  from  the  South,  which  they  loved,  to  the  Territories 
west  of  the  Mississippi  River,  just  as  they  are  bitter  on 
the  Polish  frontier  of  Russia,  for  men  and  women  who 
believe  in  national  aspirations,  in  free  speech,  and  in  con- 
stitutional government." 

Vera  listened  earnestly,  and  Pleasant  submitted  to  the 
influence  of  her  blue  eyes,  which  looked  candidly  and 
fearlessly  into  his  own.  The  bond  of  sympathy  was 
stronger  than  ever  now.  He  seemed  to  have  gained  an 
ally,  and  a  powerful  one,  who  could  counsel,  who  could 
set  him  on  the  track  of  vengeance  upon  the  oppressing 
race.  She  spoke  lower  than  before,  but  still  with  utmost 
distinctness,  as  she  said  — 


ON  THE   SCHAENZLI.  161 

"  "Well,  Mr.  Merrinott,  do  you  propose  to  let  such  a 
wrong  go  unavenged  ?  Or  do  you  mean  to  do  all  that  in 
your  power  lies  to  get  justice — justice?  " 

There  was  a  sinister  ring  in  her  voice.  Pleasant  found 
that  this  question  awakened  certain  grave  doubts  in  his 
mind.  What  was  it  his  duty  to  do?  What  could  he  do? 
How  could  he  hope  to  set  things  right?  He  did  not 
answer  Vera's  question,  and,  as  if  she  had  felt  that  he 
would  not,  she  continued  — 

"  You  want  vengeance  ;  you  want  justice  ;  you  protest ; 
you  cry  out ;  your  voice  is  stifled.  It  is  all  in  vain,  Mr. 
Merrinott.  You  waste  your  time.  You,  Indian,  victim 
of  society  in  America,  I,  victim  of  society  in  Russia,  can 
gain  little  by  protesting.  Can  we  fight  society  openly? 
Evidently  not.  What,  then,  can  we  do?"  She  paused, 
and  raised  one  hand  slowly  ;  then  suddenly,  with  a  sweep- 
ing, upward  gesture,  "We  can  undermine  it  and  blow  it 
into  fragments  —  such  minute  fragments  that  they  can 
never  be  found  and  put  together  again.  We  can  sweep  it 
out  of  existence  ;  it  must  pay  the  penalty  it  has  incurred 
by  establishing  injustice  in  place  of  justice,  corruption  in 
place  of  honesty,  tyranny  in  place  of  liberty !  The  old 
order  must  perish  from  the  earth,  and  then  we  can  con- 
struct our  new  world.  On  the  chaos  of  the  past  we  will 
build  the  social  temple  of  which  Bakouniu  has  laid  the 
spiritual  foundations  in  our  hearts  and  souls." 

Pleasant  was  greatly  impressed.  All  these  sentiments 
seemed  now  but  as  echoes  of  the  thoughts  in  his  own 
breast  —  thoughts  heretofore  vaguely  expressed.  But  a 
sense  of  his  individual  helplessness  seemed  to  overpower 
him.  He  smiled  bitterly,  as  he  said  — 

"I  am  afraid  open  war  —  hopeless  though  it  might 
prove  to  be  —  is  the  only  course  for  my  people  against 
the  race  which  oppresses  them,  and  which  has  hunted 
them  down  so  remorselessly.  The  mass  of  the  people  of 


162  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

the  United  States  are  too  well  satisfied  with  their  material 
condition  to  believe  that  anything  is  to  be  gained  by 
destroying  society  and  building  over  again  from  the 
foundations." 

"  Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  said  Vera,  with  a  confident 
air,  which  excited  Pleasant's  curiosity.  "There  are 
hidden  forces  at  work  in  the  United  States,  the  power  of 
which  you  cannot  calculate.  There  are  movements  K- 
neath  the  surface  there  which  will  join  in  a  monstrous  up- 
heaval the  day  that  a  social  revolution  succeeds  in  Ein-ope. 
The  field  is  the  world,  my  friend ;  it  is  not  merely  Russia 
or  Poland.  Do  not  fancy  that  brother  Stanislas  or  I 
would  have  taken  you  into  our  confidence  had  it  been 
merely  a  question  of  the  destruction  of  the  present  order 
of  society  in  Russia.  Our  victory  in  that  country  will  be 
followed  by  explosions  in  every  other  land  where  the  con- 
ditions demand  them.  And  do  they  not  demand  them  in 
America  as  well  as  in  Russia?  You  have  got  a  new  ex- 
periment in  government  in  America,  but  you  still  have  the 
old  society.  No,  my  friend ;  have  no  doubt  upon  one 
subject :  it  is  in  the  countries  where  the  civilization  is 
newest  that  the  theories  of  Bakounin  will  first  be  success- 
fully applied.  It  is  in  Russia  and  America  that  the  ex- 
plosion will  first  occur.  It  is  the  fresh  3'oung  nations  that 
will  furnish  the  pioneers  in  this  experiment  of  establishing 
a  new  social  order.  Do  you  understand  me?  " 

"  I  do,"  said  the  Indian.  He  did  understand,  now  ;  he 
could  see  that  this  rare  enthusiast  was  toiling  to  draw  him 
into  the  meshes  of  a  conspiracy  which  enveloped  the  whole 
civilized  world,  and  in  which  her  soul  was  engaged  with 
a  fervour  which  elicited  his  a.dmiration.  Despite  the 
eUxjticnt  manner  in  which  she  urged  her  cause  there  was, 
however,  something  .slightly  repulsive  in  it  to  Pleasaut's 
thinking,  nnd  yet  irresistible  forces  seemed  momentarily 
drawing  him  more  and  more  closely  to  it.  He  was  about 


ON  THE  SCHAENZLI.  163 

to  stammer  forth  some  inquiries  as  to  how  so  humble  and 
inexperienced  a  person  as  himself  could  help  the  cause  of 
the  "social  revolution"  in  Russia,  when  Vera  leaned 
forward,  picked  up  her  sketch  before  he  could  get  it  for 
her,  brushed  it  lightly  with  a  blue  handkerchief  which  she 
took  from  the  breast  pocket  of  her  morning  sack,  and 
looking  almost  archly  at  him,  said  — 

"Thus  endeth  the  first  lesson!" 

Pleasant  was  vexed,  but  he  did  not  betray  his  vexation. 
"You  might  call  this  the  second  lesson,  I  think,"  he 
said;  "seems  to  me  I  had  the  first  one  yesterday." 

' '  Oh  no !  That  was  merely  your  introduction  to  the 
schoolmistress.  Now,  Mr.  Merrinott,  let  us  dismiss 
serious  topics  for  the  time  being,  and  I  suppose  we  may 
admire  Nature  as  much  as  we  like,  for  we  don't  propose 
to  destroy  that.  We  shall  cut  the  old  picture  out  of  the 
frame  and  put  a  new  one  in  ;  —  we  shall  never  dream  of 
trying  to  discard  the  frame.  Nature  is  Our  friend  ;  it  is 
only  society  that  is  our  enemy.  What  a  lovely  day  it  is  ! 
See  how  exquisite  the  green  fields  are,  and  the  hills  are 
alive  with  birds !  Surely,  Mr.  Merrinott,  as  an  Indian, 
you  must  love  Nature!" 

"  I  adore  birds,  beasts,  and  the  earth  and  air,  I 
reckon,  as  much  as  can  be  expected  of  the  most  romantic 
savage,"  said  Pleasant.  "  And  I  am  glad  that  you  don't 
mean  to  pull  down  the  universe  among  your  other  labours 
of  destruction.  I  don't  think  it  can  be  improved  upon." 

"No;  but  the  manner  of  enjoying  it,  and  using  its 
benefits,  certainly  may  be.  Now,  Mr.  Merrinott,  I  posi- 
tively refuse  to  seem  serious  any  longer.  Ah  !  a  question 
—  a  question,  Mr.  Merrinott,  which  you  perhaps  can  an- 
swer. There  is  a  little  American  lady  in  whom  my  brother 
Stanislas  seems  strangely  interested :  Miss  —  Miss  Mer- 
lin. She  was  in  the  cathedral  last  evening.  Can  you  tell 
me  about  her?  She  is  but  a  child,  I  believe.  But  Stanis- 


164  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

las  —  ah  !  his  heart  is  very  tender.  Do  you  know  that  I 
sometimes  fear  Miss  Merlin  may  distract  brother  Stanislas 
from  his  life-work  ?  You  know  her ;  tell  me  about  her. ' ' 
She  applied  the  blue  handkerchief  once  more  to  brush- 
ing some  dust  from  the  water-colour,  and  brushed  so 
furiously  that  the  delicate  fabric  caught  on  a  corner  of 
the  sketch  and  fell  on  the  grass.  Pleasant  jumped  from 
his  chair  and  fell  on  his  knees  to  recover  it ;  and  he  was 
still  kneeling,  and  handing  it  to  Vera,  when  the  sound  of 
voices  caused  him  to  look  up,  and  he  saw  Caro  and  Alice 
Harrelston,  with  their  hands  filled  with  wild  flowers, 
coming  along  the  terrace.  Mrs.  Merlin,  indulging  in  a 
vehement  tirade  against  the  Swiss  hills,  and  the  fatigues 
of  climbing  them,  brought  up  the  rear. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A   WAGER. 

MB.  MERRINOTT  arose  from  his  knees  without  any  visible 
symptoms  of  discomfiture.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  that 
his  attitude  might  be  misinterpreted,  and  his  delight  at 
meeting  Alice  once  more  was  so  genuine  that  it  deadened 
all  other  sensations.  He  came  forward,  and  held  out  his 
hand,  saying  — 

"  I  did  not  expect  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  again  so 
soon." 

"  Wai !  if  it  ain't  the  Injun  !  "  said  Mrs.  Merlin,  in  a 
stage  whisper.  "That  beats  the  Dutch!"  Meantime 
she  fixed  her  eyes  sharply  on  Vera,  who  had  arisen  and 
turned  to  scrutinize  the  new-comers  haughtily  and  fear- 
lessly. A  slight  tinge  of  colour  crept  into  Vera's  face  as 
she  noticed  Caro. 

"Really,  Mr.  Merrinott,  we  were  a  little  surprised 
when  we  heard  that  you  were  still  here,"  answered  Alice. 
"  You  seemed  in  such  haste  to  return  to  America  on  your 
mission  !  "  There  was  the  faint  suggestion  of  a  laugh  in 
her  voice.  "My  hands,  as  you  see,  are  filled  with  flowers." 

"  The}'  are  right  pretty,"  said  the  Indian,  leaving  Alice 
in  doubt  whether  he  meant  the  adjective  to  apply  to  her 
hands  or  the  blossoms.  "  Yes,  I  have  been  delayed  here. 
Mrs.  Merlin, — Miss  Caro,  I  saw  you  both  in  the  church 

165 


166  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

last  evening.  Were  you  not  surprised  to  find  Stanislas 
here?" 

"Oh,  not  much,"  said  Mrs.  Merlin;  "them  foreign 
musicians " 

"  Excuse  me,"  interrupted  Pleasant,  with  a  vague 
consciousness  that  Mrs.  Merlin  might  say  something  un- 
pleasant, "  this  lady  is  —  the  sister  of  Stanislas."  And 
he  stretched  out  one  hand  with  a  gesture  which  might 
be  understood  to  serve  as  comprehending  Vera  in  the 
company.  Alice  and  Caro  glanced  quickly  at  each  other, 
and  Alice  blushed. 

"  Indeed?  "  said  Mrs.  Merlin,  walking  leisurely  towards 
Vera,  who  had  made  an  indefinable  bow,  by  which  she 
seemed  neither  to  encourage  nor  to  refuse  recognition,  "  I 
want  to  know  !  I  never  heard  Stanislas  say  that  he  had 
a  sister." 

"  My  brother,  madame,"  said  Vera,  "  is  droll,  like  all 
men  of  genius.  No  doubt  he  quite  forgets,  when  in  your 
company,  that  I  exist."  Vera  was  looking  at  Caro  as  she 
said  this,  and  the  young  girl  fancied  that  the  words  were 
meant  for  her. 

"Well,  now 't  I  look  square  at  you,  I  reckon  mebbe 
there  is  jest  a  leetle  family  resemblance,"  said  the  old 
lady,  with  her  usual  frankness. 

"That  is  not  very  strange,  is  it,  madame?"  Mrs. 
Merlin  did  not  disturb  Vera's  dignity  at  all.  "  Oh,  my 
brother  has  told  me  all  about  you,  and — I  beg  your  pardon 
—  is  not  the  young  lady  —  your  daughter  —  a  charming 
singer,  of  whom  I  have  heard  Stanislas  often  speak?" 
She  looked  at  Caro  again,  this  time  smiling  so  winningly 
that  Miss  Merlin  came  up  beside  her  mother. 

"How  delightful  to  love  music  and  to  sing!"  said 
Vera.  "  Do  you  know  that  I  am  quite  jealous  of  you 
when  I  hear  my  brother  raving  about  your  voice  ?  Oh ! 
but  he  docs  rave  !  I  get  no  praise  from  him,  because  I  — 


A  WAGER.  167 

well,  I  am  the  pedant  of  the  family.  Stanislas  says  that 
I  could  never  be  a  musician.  But  I  love  study.  I  sup- 
pose you  will  be  horrified  to  learn  that  I  have  been  study- 
ing medicine  and  other  things  at  Zurich?  " 

Mrs.  Merlin  opened  her  eyes  widely.  "  Studyin'  to  be 
a  doctress,  be  you  ?  "  she  said.  "  Don't  you  find  it  rather 
up-hill  work  ?  ' ' 

Vera  did  not  exactly  understand  this  English  idiom, 
but  when  Mrs.  Merlin  had  explained  it,  she  answered, 
"Well!  it  is  somewhat  difficult.  I  left  Zurich  and 
came  here  to  rest  for  a  time,  and  so  Stanislas  came  to 
visit  me  and  to  cheer  me  up,  although  I  believe  he  has  a 
host  of  professional  engagements,  which  he  has  taken  the 
liberty  of  suddenly  postponing.  But  will  you  not  sit 
down?"  Vera  was  as  gracious  and  dignified  as  if  the 
terrace  of  the  Sehaenzli  were  the  lawn  in  front  of  her  own 
country  house.  "  And  the  other  lady?  " 

Mrs.  Merlin  turned  to  Alice,  but  the  young  Indian  and 
Miss  Harrelston  had  retired  to  the  middle  of  the  terrace, 
where  stood  a  glass  pavilion,  and  were  busily  engaged  in 
conversation. 

"That's  Miss  Harrelston,"  said  Mrs.  Merlin.  "Per- 
haps you've  heard  your  brother  speak  of  her." 

"  I  think  not,"  answered  Vera.  "  Is  she  an  American 
lady  ?  Ah  !  I  fear  I  am  keeping  you  from  her.  I  was 
sketching  here  when  the  dark  gentleman,  Mr.  Merrinott, 
to  whom  my  brother  introduced  me  only  yesterday,  came 
along,  and  we  have  been  talking  about  your  wonderful 
country !  Ah !  what  a  blessing  to  have  such  a  land  to 
claim  as  one's  own  !  " 

"Why,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Merlin.  "Now,  if  you're 
reelly  bent  on  doctorin' ,  the  United  States  offers  a  much 
better  chance  than ' ' 

"Than  Russia?  Do  you  think  so?  Ah!  there  are  a 
great  many  ills  to  heal  in  Russia,  and  physicians  of  the 


168  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

right  sort  are  much  in  demand."  Vera  gathered  up  her 
sketching  materials  as  she  talked. 

"Don't  let  us  disturb  you!"  cried  Caro.  "Please 
continue  your  work,  and  I  will  sit  down  and  look  on." 

"  Oh,  that  will  be  too  much  honour  for  my  poor 
sketch,"  said  Vera;  but  she  began  unpacking  again,  and 
sat  down. 

"  Not  so  much  honour  as  Mr.  Merrinott  was  paying  it 
when  we  came  np,"  said  Caro,  wickedly.  "  He  seemed 
to  be  on  his  knees  before  it." 

"  On  his  knees  — yes  —  not  to  worship  —  but  to  pick  up 
rny  handkerchief.  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper, 
"that  he  is  very  impressive  —  that  Mr.  Merrinott  ?  He 
looks  like  a  young  Tartar  chieftain  !  And  he  has  a  right 
to  look  so,  for  I  think  there  is  no  doubt  that  your  North 
American  Indians  are  of  Asiatic  origin.  They  must  have 
gone  over  to  America  centuries  and  centuries  ago,  across 
that  narrow  strip  of  water  away  in  the  North  —  how  do 
you  call  it?  Behring's  Straits  —  is  it  not?" 

"Wai,"  said  Mrs.  Merlin,  smoothing  out  the  wrinkles 
in  her  bonnet-strings,  "  that  is  an  idee.  It's  kinder 
consolin'  to  think  that  such  dretful  critturs  as  the  Injuns 
are  not  the  natural  producks  of  the  North  American 
soil." 

"  Oh  !  you  must  not  be  uncomplimentary  to  the  Tartars 
in  my  presence,  even  by  implication,"  said  Vera,  with  an 
odd  little  smile  ;  "  for  do  you  not  remember  the  proverb, 
'-Scratch  the  Russian,  and  you  find  the  Tartar? ' 

'•'But  I  thought,"  remarked  Mrs.  Merlin,  looking  a 
'little  blank,  "  that  I  had  heard  your  brother  say  his 
•mother —  I  think  it  was  his  mother  —  was  Polish,  and  so 
•you  would  be " 

"The  Russians,  madame,  would  hardly  be  willing  to 
admit  that  there  is  any  such  country  as  Poland,  or  that 
the  Poles  exist.  But  to  come  back  to  the  Indian."  She 


A   WAGER.  169 

glanced  around  to  satisfy  herself  that  Pleasant  was  out 
of  hearing  range.  "  Is  he  not  an  enthusiast?  " 

"  He  is,"  said  Caro.  "  He  is  the  kind  of  man  to  lead 
a  forlorn  hope  in  a  battle,  or  to  rebel  against  a  great 
injustice,  even  if  there  were  not  the  slightest  hope  of 
successful  rebellion." 

"  Do  you  think  so?  "  cried  Vera,  so  joyously  that  Caro 
and  her  mother  looked  quickly  at  her. 

"  Yes,  he's  determined,"  said  Caro's  mother,  "  but  it's 
no  use.  He  might  as  well  butt  his  head  aginst  a  stone 
wall  as  to  work  at  settin'  Indian  affairs  straight." 

"  That  doesn't  matter,"  said  Vera.  "  He  is  enthusiastic, 
and  enthusiasm  is  never  so  beautiful  as  when  it  is  bestowed 
upon  a  hopeless  cause." 

Mrs.  Merlin  was  puzzled  by  Vera,  but  she  liked  the 
girl.  She  felt  much  relief  of  mind,  alsa,  now  that  she 
could  see  a  legitimate  reason  for  the  presence  of  Stanislas 
in  Berne.  He  had,  of  course,  stopped  to  visit  with  his 
sister ;  nothing  could  be  more  natural  or  proper.  The 
very  fact  that  he  had  a  sister  over  whose  career  he 
watched  revived  Mrs.  Merlin's  respect  for  him.  So  she 
made  herself  as  agreeable  as  possible  to  Vera,  who 
seemed  the  incarnation  of  frankness,  giving  picturesque 
details  of  her  student  life  in  Zurich,  and  furnishing  a 
vivid  impression  of  her  ability  to  take  care  of  herself. 
Once  or  twice,  when  the  girl  looked  up  from  her  sketch, 
and  fixed  her  eyes  full  upon  Mrs.  Merlin's  face,  the  good 
woman  was  a  bit  disturbed.  The  imperious  boldness  of 
the  gaze  seemed  to  reveal  a  phase  of  character  which  Vera 
usually  kept  concealed. 

While  the  mother  gossiped  and  listened  to  gossip,  the 
daughter  was  studying  Vera.  She  sought  in  vain  in  the 
girl's  face  for  the  resemblance  to  Stanislas  which  Mrs. 
Merlin  had  discovered,  and  she  was  dimly  conscious  of  a 
latent  antagonism  to  Vera,  slowly  developing  itself  in 'her 


170  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

soul,  as  if  in  obedience  to  an  eternal  law  of  the  origin  or 
purpose  of  which  she  knew  nothing.  She  was  willing  to 
like  Vera,  but  a  voice  cried  "  Beware  !  "  She  felt  that  she 
was  in  presence  of  a  will  superior  to  her  own  ;  that  Vera 
had  hidden  forces  which  might  in  emergency  be  called  into 
play  and  gain  victories  for  her.  In  short,  Vera  was  a  woman 
whom  she  was  ready  to  admire,  but  not  to  trust  or  to  love. 
Deep  in  Caro's  heart  was  a  worship  of  the  genius  of 
Stanislas,  the  artist,  which  was  ready  at  a  moment's  call 
to  develop  into  love  for  Stanislas,  the  man ;  and  even  his 
faults  were  not  without  a  certain  savour  in  her  eyes.  The 
sudden  intrusion  of  this  sister  upon  her  attention  was  not 
entirely  pleasant  to  her ;  she  was  vaguely  jealous  of  her 
already,  before  she  had  known  of  her  existence  for  more 
than  half  an  hour.  That  Stanislas  should  never  have  men- 
tioned Vera  to  her  seemed  to  demand  an  explanation  ;  yet 
she  would  have  been  puzzled  to  give  a  reason  for  this  feeling. 
She  observed  that  Vera  found  time,  despite  her  sketching 
and  her  conversation  with  Mrs.  Merlin,  to  look  her  over 
most  carefully,  and  she  felt  that  the  Russian  girl  would 
take  away  with  her  a  remembrance  of  every  detail  of  her 
dress,  and  each  peculiarity  of  her  manner. 

Presently  they  heard  a  cheerful  voice  accosting  Pleasant 
and  Alice,  and  Caro  instantly  recognized  it  for  that  of 
Stanislas.  In  spite  of  a  strong  effort  to  control  her 
emotion,  the  tell-tale  blood  came  into  her  cheeks,  and  she 
was  half  inclined  to  turn  away  from  the  sharp  gaze  which 
Veia  fixed  upon  her  at  that  moment.  Evidently,  thought 
Caro,  Mademoiselle  Vera  is  of  a  most  inquisitive  turn  of 
mind. 

Stanislas  was  in  splendid  humour,  and  he  came  up  to 
the  ladies,  bringing  Alice  and  Pleasant  in  his  train.  He 
seemed  to  consider  it  necessary  to  introduce  his  sister 
formally  to  every  one,  and  congratulated  himself  and  the 
company  on  their  reunion. 


A  WAGER.  171 

' '  But  we  are  doomed  to  separate  again  almost  imme- 
diately," said  Vera,  "for  Mrs.  Merlin  and  her  daughter 
leave  to-morrow,  and " 

"Of  course  Miss  Harrelston  goes  with  them,"  said 
Stanislas. 

"  And  shall  we  lose  you,  too?  "  said  Vera  to  the  young 
Cherokee. 

Alice  Harrelston  looked  at  Vera,  and  Vera  looked  at 
her.  The  young  American  girl  was  displeased,  and  Vera 
knew  it. 

"  I  shall  go  in  a  few  days,  I  reckon,"  answered  Pleasant. 

"  But  not  to  America  —  not  to  your  Indians,  Mr.  Merri- 
nott,"  said  Alice.  "  Have  you  explained  to  our  friends 
that  you  have  all  at  once  lost  interest  in  your  mission? 
Do  you  know,  Mrs.  Merlin,  that  Mr.  Merrinott  now  talks 
of  a  stay  in  Paris  ?  We  shall  count  you  among  the  lost 
leaders,  sir.  We  are  disappointed ;  we  expected  to  read 
exciting  telegrams  about  you,  and  to  hear  of  glorious 
deeds  done  on  the  frontier." 

Pleasant  bit  his  lips.  He  realized  that  Alice,  actuated 
by  a  sudden  feminine  caprice,  was  deliberately  striving  to 
make  him  seem  ridiculous.  This  grieved  rather  than 
offended  him.  He  made  no  answer,  but  Vera  said  gently — 

"  Perhaps  Mr.  Merrinott  thinks  that  he  can  serve  his 
people  better  abroad  than  at  home  for  the  present." 

This  remark  heightened  Alice's  displeasure.  Who  was 
this  Vera,  who  came  flitting  like  a  shadow  across  their 
path?  this  Vera,  beside  whom  Pleasant  had  been  found 
kneeling  the  day  after  he  had  seen  her  for  the  first  time, 
and  who  now  seemed  to  know  about  his  plans,  and  to 
apologize  for  him  when  he  turned  aside  from  the  straight 
path  of  self-appointed  duty?  A  Russian  girl,  a  student  of 
medicine,  and  the  sister  of  Stanislas.  But  this  was  not 
enough  to  entitle  her  to  confidence.  Suspicion  of  Vera 
sprang  into  Alice's  mind  the  moment  that  she  saw  her 


172  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

face.  Instinct  told  her  that  that  face  was  pure,  virginal, 
honest ;  but  there  was  the  shadow  of  a  mysterious  design 
upon  it,  and  this  it  was  which  made  it  repugnant  to  Alice. 
This,  thought  the  girl,  is  the  face  of  a  woman  who  might 
lead  such  a  }Touth  as  Pleasant  Merrinott  very  far  astray. 
Her  natural  charity  entered  a  protest  against  this  judg- 
ment, which  might  prove  to  have  been  prejudiced  and 
harsh  ;  but  she  set  her  charity  sternly  aside,  and  refused 
to  accept  Vera  until  she  had  made  a  more  careful  study 
of  her. 

"Do  you  think  that  Paris  will  spoil  our  savage 
friend  ? ' '  said  Stanislas,  gaily.  ' '  Not  at  all.  The  odours 
of  the  boulevard  will  teach  him  to  love  the  perfumes  of 
his  forests  all  the  more  passionately.  When  he  sees  what 
over-refinement  and  decaying  civilization  are  worth,  he 
will  be  glad  to  return  to  the  simplicity  of  his  native 
prairies." 

"  That  is  right  prettily  said,  Mr.  Stanislas  ;  but  I'm  not 
entirely  sure  that  I  am  going  to  Paris.  I  — I  don't  know 
what  I  am  going  to  do."  Pleasant  held  out  his  hands 
helplessly,  as  if  he  were  giving  up  his  liberty  to  his  Fate. 
"I  will  remain  here  for  the  present  —  until  I  hear  more 
from  the  Nation." 

' '  And  then  —  ah  !  then  —  you  are  certain  to  gravitate 
to  Paris,"  interrupted  Vera.  "It  is  the  natural  centre 
for  every  one  who  has  a  cause,  a  mission,  an  idea.  It  is 
a  splendid  rallying  point.  France  has  not  been  wrongly 
called  the  second  country  of  every  man." 

"  Wai,"  said  Mrs.  Merlin,  "  I  do  think  that  the  French 
are  a  mighty  sight  more  interested  to  reform  other  nations 
than  they  are  to  improve  themselves.  It  tickles  their 
vanity  to  think  that  other  folks  need  scttin'  to  rights,  and 
kinder  confirms  "em  in  their  notion  that  they  personally 
don't  need  no  lixin'  over. 

"  I  don't  think  I  should  like  Paris,"  Siiid  Pleasant.     "  I 


A  WAGER.  173 

have  an  idea  that  I  should  find  it  heartless  and  insincere, 
and  —  and  all  surface.  Miss  Vera  surprises  me  when 
she  calls  it  the  right  place  for  a  man  with  a  mission." 

Alice  was  leaning  against  the  terrace  railing,  and 
looking  down  at  some  flowers,  which  she  was  deftly 
arranging  into  a  bouquet.  Pleasant's  criticism  made  her 
look  up,  and  he  saw  that  her  face  wore  a  pained  expres- 
sion. 

"  Oh  !  Mr.  Merrinott !  how  poorly  you  understand  our 
dear  Paris  !"  she  said.  "Perhaps  after  you  have  been 
there  a  few  months  you  will  deign  to  bestow  a  less  severe 
judgment  on  the  city." 

"A  few  months,  Miss  Harrelston !  Why,  in  a  few 
mouths  I  shall  be  back  among  the  hills  in  the  Indian 
Nation,  and  you  all  will  have  forgotten  that  I  or  my 
country  are  in  the  world." 

"  Voyez  I'Americain !  See  his  impatience  break  through 
the  crust  of  European  delay,"  laughed  Stanislas.  "Why, 
Monsieur  Savage,  do  you  think  that  the  wrongs  of  an 
oppressed  people  can  be  redressed  over  night?  If  you 
have  arrived  at  any  such  mistaken  conclusion,  just  give 
yourself  the  trouble  to  call  to  mind  the  small  nations  that 
have  been  asking  for  justice  for  three  or  four  hundred 
years  —  and  that  still  ask  in  vain." 

' '  And  yet  many  of  them  are  now  trying  to  redress 
those  wrongs  by  sudden  and  violent  means,"  said  Pleasant, 
looking  sharply  at  Stanislas. 

The  musician  started  involuntarily,  but  he  saw  that  no 
one  else,  except  Vera,  had  understood  the  allusion. 

"  I  don't  think  it  is  right  to  accuse  me  of  impatience," 
continued  the  Indian  ;  "  but  I  stand  convicted  of  indigna- 
tion !  " 

"And  enthusiasm,"  added  Vera.  "Did  you  not  say," 
addressing  Caro,  "  that  Mr.  Merrinott  is  very  enthusias- 
tic?" 


174  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

"Well,  is  that  cause  for  reproach?"  inquired  Pleasant. 
"  I  reckon  you  would  prefer  to  see  me  the  conventional 
Indian  —  silent  as  the  grave,  undemonstrative  as  a 
stone " 

"  No  no,  not  so,"  said  Vera,  stepping  into  the  middle 
of  the  group,  and  addressing  each  member  of  it  as 
familiarly  as  if  she  had  known  them  all  for  years.  "  But 
there  seems  to  be  —  I  think  we  must  all  admit  it  —  some 
doubt  as  to  your  ability  to  maintain  your  enthusiasm  at 
its  present  height.  Some  of  us  think  —  is  it  not  so?  — 
that  the  seductions  of  civilization  may  turn  you  aside 
from  your  mission.  Now,  I  do  not  think  so,  and  I  shall 
be  curious  to  see  if  my  convictions  in  your  favour  are  not 
justified." 

"  Ah  !  but  he  is  forewarned  now,"  said  Caro. 

"That  will  neither  help  nor  hinder  him,"  continued 
Vera.  "  Brother  Stanislas,  don't  reprove  me  now.  You 
know  I  must  be  allowed  my  little  eccentricities.  I  am 
going  to  —  how  do  you  say  it?  —  to  lay  a  wager." 

"  What !  to  make  a  bet?  Sister,  that  is  not  precisely 
a  feminine  habit." 

"  Never  mind  ;  my  motive  is  excellent.  I  am  going  to 
lay  a  wager  of  some  trifling  thing  —  whatever  you  please 
—  that  six  months  hence  Mr.  Mcrrinott  will  be  found 
as  enthusiastic  as  ever  about  his  mission,  and  quite 
uninjured  by  his  contact  with  decaying  civilization.  Six 
months  hence  ;  that  will  be  February  —  I  shall  be  in  Paris 
—  brother  Stanislas  will  be  there — shall  we  not  all  be 
there?  Don't  frown,  Mr.  Merriuott ;  we  are  not  impugn- 
ing your  patriotism  or  sincerity  :  we  are  merely  speculat- 
ing as  to  the  influence  of  society  upon  you." 

Pleasant  did  frown,  but  he  made  no  other  protest.  He 
was  anxious  to  see  what  would  come  of  this  odd  propo- 
sition. 

"Naturally,  if  Mr.  Merrinott  does  not  remain  in  Europe 


A   WAGER.  175 

six  months,  the  wager  falls  to  the  ground.  But  if  he  does, 
we  shall  see  him,  and  pronounce  upon  his  progress.  Now, 
who  dares  wager  against  me  that  he  will  lose  this  excellent 
quality  of  enthusiasm,  or  that  he  will  unconsciously  falter 
in  his  mission  —  and  all  because  of  the  undermining 
influences  of  society?  Dare  you?  "  turning  to  Mrs.  Mer- 
lin ;  "  or  you?  "  to  Caro  ;  "  or  you?  "  to  Stanislas  ;  "  or 
you?"  to  Alice,  who  held  a  violet  which  she  was  about  to 
place  in  the  bouquet  in  her  right  hand. 

"I  dare,"  said  Alice,  lightly;  "and  I  will  wager  a 
bouquet  of  violets  with  you  that  if  Mr.  Merrinott  remains 
in  Europe  six  months  he  will  have  lost  his  enthusiasm  and 
abated  his  interest  in  his  mission." 

Pleasant  started  as  if  some  one  had  struck  him,  but  he 
instantly  recovered  his  calmness,  and  said  coolly  — 

"Who  is  to  decide,  at.  the  end  of  this  probationary 
period,  whether  I  have  become  worthless  or  not?  " 

"Oh,  Mr.  Merrinott  —  not  worthless;  I  fear  we  have 
offended  you,"  said  Vera. 

"  Not  at  all.     Only  I  fail  to  see " 

"If  your  enthusiasm  for  your  mission  has  lessened, 
you  will  be  the  first  to  admit  it  when  the  time  for  decision 
comes.  Shall  we  write  down  the  wager?  " 

Vera  smiled  as  she  turned  to  Alice  with  this  question 
on  her  lips ;  but  the  smile  died  away,  and  gave  place  to  a 
questioning  look,  as  she  saw  that  Miss  Harrelston's  face 
was  stern. 

"  I  shall  remember.  February.  Violets.  Caro  shall 
be  our  intermediary,"  said  Alice. 

" Bon  Dieu!"  cried  Stanislas.  " You  are  as  romantic 
as  two  ladies  of  the  seventeenth  century.  Now,  Monsieur 
Indian,  you  are  on  probation." 

"It's  uncomfortable,"  said  the  young  Cherokee,  tossing 
his  long  black  hair  from  his  shoulders.  "Oh,  Miss 
Harrelston,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  and  approaching  Alice, 


176  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

"  how  could  you  be  so  cruel — you  who  professed  to  believe 
in  me  and  in  rny  mission? " 

"Because  you  have  already  faltered  by  the  way," 
answered  Alice,  letting  the  violet  fall  from  one  hand, 
grasping  the  bouquet  tightly  with  the  other,  and  raising 
her  eyes  slowly  to  meet  his. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE    ALPINE    FIRE. 

FOR,  the  next  five  minutes  Pleasant  wished,  more  earnestly 
than  ever  before,  that  he  had  been  born  a  full-blooded 
Indian.  He  was  grievously  offended,  almost  angry.  His 
hands  were  convulsively  clenched,  and  his  lips  trembled. 
He  would  have  been  glad  to  conceal  his  agitation,  and  the 
stoical  calm  of  the  children  of  the  forest  seemed  to  him  a 
most  precious  quality.  He  felt  doubly  humiliated  now ; 
humbled  by  Alice's  plain  expression  of  her  lack  of  con- 
fidence in  him,  and  abased  because  he  could  not  conceal 
from  her  the  fact  that  her  action  annoyed  and  distressed 
him.  Had  he  been  a  man  of  the  world  he  would  have  felt 
flattered  rather  than  angered  by  Alice's  acceptance  of 
Vera's  wager :  but  he  was  not  a  man  of  the  world. 

Miss  Harrelston's  eyes  fascinated  him.  She  looked  at 
him  proudly,  yet  earnestly ;  he  was  at  a  loss  to  decide 
whether  there  was  most  of  pride  or  pity  in  her  gaze. 
Never  had  she  seemed  so  beautiful  to  him  as  now  —  at  the 
moment  when  she  had  wounded  him  sorely.  A  mysterious 
force  drew  him  slowly  toward  her  ;  he  was  feeling  in  all  its 
power  the  enchantment  of  love  —  that  love  which  causes 
such  exquisite  pain,  so  infinitely  preferable  to  the  most 
refined  pleasure.  Pleasant  felt  that  he  must  be  alone  with 
Alice  ;  that  a  word  might  explain  all ;  that  his  heart  would 
burst  unless  there  were  complete  explanation  before  they 
separated.  Then  a  blighting  suspicion  crossed  his 

177 


178  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

thoughts,  bringing  a  chill,  as  a  passing  shadow  brings  a 
shudder  to  the  wanderer  in  a  sunlit  field.  Perhaps  Alice 
would  cast  him  aside  as  a  useless  acquaintance,  a  silly 
adventurer.  What  claim  had  he  upon  her  attention  ? 

Stanislas  awoke  him  from  this  fit  of  abstraction  by 
inviting  the  company  to  go  with  him  to  see  the  bears,  hi 
their  historic  den  on  the  river  bank.  "  After  seeing  those 
pleasant  animals,"  said  the  musician,  "  we  can  stroll  to 
my  lodgings,  where  sister  Vera  shall  make  you  some  tea, 
with  a  lemon  in  it,  in  Northern  style,  and  I  will  make 
you  some  music,  if  you  wish." 

' '  A  composition  describing  the  gambols  of  the  bears 
would  not  be  a  bad  idea,"  said  Vera  gaily,  as,  aided  by 
Mrs.  Merlin,  she  took  up  the  sketching  materials,  and 
led  the  way  toward  one  of  the  exits  from  the  Schaenzli 
Garden. 

Caro  and  Stanislas  followed,  merrily  discussing  the 
possibilities  of  Vera's  suggestion. 

"You  are  coming,  of  course,"  said  Stanislas  to  Alice 
and  the  young  Indian. 

"With  pleasure,"  said  Alice.  "Now,  Mr.  Merrinott, 
if  you  will  kindly  pick  up  my  violet,  and  consent  to  come 
out  of  your  reverie,  we  will  visit  the  bears.  You  ought 
to  tell  us  some  famous  bear  stories  ;  they  are  in  your  line, 
you  know." 

"Here  is  the  flower,"  said  Pleasant,  bending  swiftly 
and  gracefully  forward,  and  picking  up  the  faded  little 
blossom.  "  It  is  half  crushed  and  a  bit  soiled,  but  if  you 
have  no  objection,  I  would  like  to  keep  it.  When  I  look 
at  it,"  he  added,  rather  bitterly,  "  it  will  serve  to  remind 
me  —  of  my  probation." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Alice  coldly,  "  if  it  will  be  of  use  to 
yon  for  that  purpose,  you  are  quite  welcome  to  it."  The 
faint  flush  in  her  checks,  which  Pleasant  had  learned  to 
consider  so  beautiful,  was  apparent  now. 


THE  ALPINE  FIKE.  179 

"  I  am  not  likely  to  forget  the  manner  in  which  my 
sincerity  has  been  called  in  question,  whatever  else  I  for- 
get," said  the  Indian,  quite  losing  his  self-control. 

The  flush  faded  out  of  Alice's  face.  "  You  are  offended, 
Mr.  Merrinott,"  she  said.  "  I  am  very  sorry  that  I  have 
hurt  your  feelings.  -But  I  am  not  entirely  to  blame. 
Our  new  acquaintance  seemed  so  anxious  to  find  some 
one " 

"  Ah  !  but  it  need  not  have  been  you,  Miss  Harrelstbn," 
interrupted  the  excited  Cherokee.  "  When  you  did  that, 
I  felt  as  badly  as  if  you  had  struck  me  a  blow.  It  was 
hard ;  you  misjudged  me  so  suddenly,  and  right  cruelly ! 
A  word  will  explain  everything.  I  have  not  faltered  by 
the  way — nor  do  I  mean  to  falter.  Since  arriving  here,  I 
have  received  letters — despatches — which  delay  my  depar- 
ture. It  hurts  me  to  have  you  think — think  me  ridiculous. ' ' 

"  I  am  sure  that  nothing  can  ever  make  me  think  you 
ridiculous,  Mr.  Merrinott,"  said  Alice,  moving  on  more 
rapidly,  for  she  saw  that  Pleasant  was  inclined  to  stop  and 
enter  into  a  discussion.  "That  is,"  she  added,  with  a 
merry  gleam  in  her  eyes,  "nothing  —  unless  I  should 
happen  to  win  my  wager.  It  is  made,  and  I  suppose  that 
it  would  be  awkward  to  withdraw  from  it  now.  Still,  I 
own  that  I  was  hasty  and  inconsiderate.  Will  you  for- 
give me?" 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  Pleasant  joyously.  "  I  felt 
proud  of  your  confidence,  and  when  you  seemed  to  with- 
draw it  —  you  have  not  wholly  withdrawn  it,  have  you?  " 

"  By  no  means." 

"  I  was  profoundly  discouraged.  Ungallant  as  it  is,  I 
shall  do  my  best  to  make  you  lose  your  wager." 

They  were  some  distance  behind  the  others,  and  as 
they  went  along  the  high  road  on  the  hill,  with  the 
delicious  odour  of  the  new-mown  ha}T  floating  around 
them,  and  as  they  wound  down  the  steep  path  to  the 


180  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

street  which  led  beneath  the  grateful  shade  of  ancient 
trees  to  the  pit  in  which  the  bears,  those  august  guests  of 
the  venerable  city  of  Berne,  disport  themselves,  Alice 
talked  of  nothing  but  Stanislas  and  Vera.  The  young 
Indian  was  compelled  to  keep  a  careful  watch  upon  his 
words,  lest  in  an  imprudent  moment  he  should  betray 
the  secret  of  the  disciples  of  Bakounin,  and  when  Alice 
said  — 

"  But  do  you  not  think  that  the  lady  is  decidedly 
eccentric  ?  "  he  answered  — 

"  Highly  so.     It  must  be  due  to  her  studies,  I  reckon." 

The  visitors  found  the  bears  very  diverting,  and  ex- 
pended many  pennies  in  the  purchase  of  turnips  and 
cakes  to  toss  into  the  maws  of  the  clumsy  and  comical 
creatures.  Then  they  went  up  the  hill  to  a  cool  cottage 
where  Stanislas  and  Vera  were  installed,  and  where,  on  a 
pretty  lawn  under  widespreading  trees,  after  much  con- 
^ersation  and  laughter,  Stanislas  ordered  lunch  to  be 
served.  Stanislas  disappeared  mysteriously,  to  return 
shortly  in  a  carriage  with  Mrs.  Harrelston,  who  had  been 
nursing  a  headache  in  her  room  at  the  Bellevue,  but  who 
was  easily  persuaded  to  join  the  merry-makers.  It  was 
no  secret  that  the  musician  enjoyed  a  fine  revenue  from 
his  concerts,  and  Alice  was  not  surprised  to  see  two 
smart  servants,  clad  in  decorous  black,  load  a  table  with 
all  the  delicacies  of  the  season,  with  fruits  from  Italian 
valleys  beyond  the  Alps,  and  with  white  and  red  wines  in 
dainty  long-necked  bottles  reposing  on  beds  of  snow 
brought  from  the  distant  mountains.  Mrs.  Merlin's  eyes 
rested  lovingly  on  a  deep  glass  dish  filled  with  luscious 
strawberries,  fit  for  the  table  of  a  sovereign. 

"  I  declare,"  she  said  to  Vera,  "I'm  glad  I  come  ;  them 
berries  remind  me  of  home.  You're  dretful  lucky  to  have 
such  a  genius  as  Stanislas  for  your  brother,  Miss " 

••  Call  me  Vera.     Yes,  I  am  very  fond  of  him.     Stains- 


THE  ALPINE  FIRE.  181 

las  is  my  only  egotism,  as  Paul  de  Musset  said  of  his 
brother  Alfred."  Vera's  eyes  were  almost  dim  with  tears 
as  she  spoke.  "  And  he  is  very  good  to  me.  I  do  not 
know  what  I  should  be  without  him." 

Caro  was  studying  Vera's  face,  but  vainly.  A  faint 
suspicion  of  the  Russian  girl  was  ever  present  in  her 
heart,  yet  she  sought  without  success  to  define  it. 

"  I  tell  him,"  continued  Vera,  "  that  I  shall  be  very 
jealous  when  he  takes  a  wife.  And  he  laughs,  and  says 
he  shall  never  marry ;  that  an  artist  should  be  wedded 
only  to  his  art.  But  I  know  that  some  day  he  will  find 
his  heart  ensnared,  and  then  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to 
take  refuge  in  my  studies  —  in  my  medicine  and  my 
philosophies.  I  shall  try  to  forgive  him,  and  I  presume 
that  I  shall  succeed." 

Stanislas  was  directing  the  movements  of  the  servants  ; 
Mrs.  Harrelston,  Alice,  and  Pleasant  were  enjoying  a  view 
of  the  river  from  a  corner  of  the  lawn,  and  Caro  and  Mrs. 
Merlin  were  the  only  listeners  to  Vera.  The  Russian  girl 
did  not  seem  to  be  looking  at  anything  in  particular,  but 
she  was  studying  every  movement  of  Caro's  face. 

"Wai,"  said  Mrs.  Merlin,  "I  s'pose  he  don't  want  to 
marry  when  he's  travellin'  up  an'  down  the  universe  as 
much  as  he  is  jest  now.  I  don't  approve  of  men's 
marryin'  women  an'  leavin'  'em  to  home  to  wear  their 
souls  out  waitin'  an' — an'  imaginin'." 

"  It  is  a  subject  on  which  we  do  not  often  speak,"  said 
Vera,  continuing,  with  that  idyllic  frankness  which  seemed 
inseparable  from  her  nature.  "  But  I  heard  once  that  my 
brother  lost  his  heart  to  a  young  girl  in  South  America. 
It  was  a  story,  you  know,  in  those  wicked  newspapers 
that  meddle  with  everything ;  and  I  have  sometimes 
thought  that  it  may  have  been  true." 

She  saw  that  Caro's  face  had  grown  white,  and  she 
added  carelessly,  as  she  leaned  against  a  gnarled  trunk, 


182  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

and  plucked  a  spray  of  grass  from  a  little  turf  at  the 
base  of  the  tree  — 

' '  I  do  not  know  why  I  talk  so  freely  of  my  brother  — 
unless  it  is  because  you  are  old  friends  of  his.  I  am  afraid 
you  will  think  that  I  am  what  you  call  in  English  a 
chatter-box." 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Merlin,  and  began  a  stream  of 
reminiscences  about  the  musician,  to  which  Vera  listened 
with  marked  attention,  all  the  while  slyly  watching 
Caro. 

"I  hold  her  secret  now,"  thought  Vera;  "  it  was  not 
very  hard  to  discover." 

At  lunch  Vera  proved  herself  a  brilliant  talker,  and 
she  presided  at  the  table  with  dignity  and  grace.  Mrs. 
Merlin  looked  approvingly  at  her,  and  telegraphed  signals 
of  approbation  to  Mrs.  Harrelston,  who  seemed  of  her 
opinion.  Pleasant  found  himself  forgetting  that  Vera  and 
Stanislas  were  conspirators,  and  a  grim  smile  fled  over  his 
face  as  he  reflected  on  the  contrast  between  their  sombre 
doctrine  and  their  present  adherence  to  all  the  conven- 
tional forms  and  usages  of  the  society  which  they  were 
labouring  to  destroy.  He  would  have  liked  to  ask  Stanis- 
las, as  he  noted  the  refined  joy  of  the  musician  when  he 
held  a  glass  of  golden  Rhine  wine  up,  that  it  might  catch 
the  sunlight  in  its  lustrous  depths,  whether  the  success  of 
Bakounin's  theories  would  not  do  much  to  render  the  use 
of  costly  luxuries  a  crime. 

The  afternoon  passed  swiftly  away.  The  servants 
placed  the  piano  on  a  little  wooden  platform  under  the 
trees,  and  Stanislas  played,  as  Mrs.  Merlin  expressed  it, 
•'  like  an  angel."  Then  Caro  sang,  and,  inspired  by  some 
sorrow  which  she  could  not  analyze,  she  charmed  the 
small  group  of  hearers.  Vera  sat  among  the  long  grasses 
under  a  tree,  listening  intently,  and  watching  Caro  with 
such  earnestness  that  the  girl  felt  it,  and  was  occasionally 


THE   ALPINE   FIEE.  183 

ill  at  ease.  But  Stanislas  praised  and  flattered  Caro, 
corrected  her  here,  pronounced  her  perfect  there,  and 
entered  with  such  joy  into  the  smallest  details  of  the 
execution  of  an  aria,  that  she  was  radiant  with  delight. 

"  When  do  you  hope  to  make  your  debut  in  Paris,  Miss 
Caro  ?  "  he  asked,  when  they  were  both  thoroughly  fa- 
tigued. "Because  I  think  it  would  be  safe  to  venture 
upon  it  this  winter." 

' '  My  debut !  "  said  Caro,  looking  frightened.  ' '  I  should 
have  been  less  surprised  if  you  had  told  me  that  I  need  a 
couple  of  years  at  the  Conservatoire  !  " 

"  One  does  not  need  the  Conservatoire  when  one  has 
had  such  excellent  private  instruction  as  you  have  received. 
You  will  be  ready  for  a  very  creditable  first  appearance  in 
the  spring,  if  not  this  winter.  But  do  not  aim  too  high. 
Don't  expect  to  be  engaged  at  the  Paris  Grand  Opera  after 
you  have  sung  five  notes  before  the  public.  Think  of  the 
dozens  of  silly  little  angels  who  persist  every  year  in  flying 
into  the  footlights  of  the  great  theatres  in  Paris  and 
London  and  burning  their  wings.  You  must  not  be  too 
ambitious  in  your  debut." 

"You  will  give  us  the  proper  advice  when  the  time 
comes,  won't  you?  "  said  Mrs.  Merlin. 

"  I  shall  be  only  too  happy  to  help  in  introducing  such 
a  sweet  singer  to  the  world,"  said  the  musician,  so  gravely 
and  politely  that  Mrs.  Merlin  was  quite  overcome,  and  cast 
a  triumphant  glance  upon  the  group  of  listeners. 

Mrs.  Harrelston  professed  to  have  enjoyed  the  music 
very  much,  but  the  truth  was  that  she  had  been  carefully 
observing  Mr.  Pleasant  Merrinott,  and  was  not  entirely 
pleased  with  the  manner  in  which  the  young  Indian  kept 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  Alice.  "When  she  arose  to  go,  Stanislas 
said  — 

"My  dear  madam,  allow  me  to  offer  a  suggestion. 
Hotels  and  hotel  dinners  are  an  invention  of  the  arch 


184  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

enemy,  who  is  in  league  with  all  cooks  of  German  origin, 
but  especially  with  those  in  Swiss  inns.  Now  would  it  not 
be  pleasant  to  dine  together  in  the  open  air,  on  the  great 
terrace  of  the  Casino,  where  we  can  see  the  mountains? 
If  you  will  but  issue  the  edict,  I  will  order  the  dinner  at 
seven,  and " 

Mrs.  Harrelston  could  not  plead  her  headache  as  an 
excuse,  for  it  had  vanished,  and  after  having  been  assured 
that  the  proposed  terrace  was  eminently  a  proper  place, 
she  consented.  So  the  little  party  assembled  at  the  pretty 
Casino  as  the  sun  was  going  down,  and,  seated  in  a 
corner,  looked  out,  as  they  dined,  over  the  rushing  Aar 
and  the  high  banks  covered  with  quaint  houses,  and  the 
many  coloured  ferns  and  flowers  among  the  vines.  As  the 
coffee  was  served,  Alice  sprang  up,  her  cheeks  glowing 
with  excitement,  and  pointed  in  the  direction  of  the  Alps 
without  speaking  a  word. 

"  Is  the  girl  mad?  "  said  Mrs.  Harrelston.  "  What  do 
you  see,  daughter?" 

"The  Alpgluhen!"  cried  Stanislas.  "Ah!  there  is 
something  that  music  cannot  express.  Look  !  Look  !  " 

All  looked  in  the  direction  of  the  great  snow-clad  line 
of  the  Alps,  clearly  and  majestically  defined  against  the 
evening  sky,  in  which  still  lingered  a  few  gleams  of  the 
departing  sunset.  The  western  horizon  was  lightly  veiled, 
and  broad  shadows  were  already  descending  upon  the 
valleys,  and  had  covered  with  their  veil  the  dark  group  of 
houses  below  the  cathedral  platform.  The  sun's  rays  no 
longer  caressed  the  summits  of  the  Jungfrau  and  the 
Bliimlisalp,  but  in  their  stead  a  mysterious  and  exquisitely 
beautiful  rose-tint  was  creeping  up  the  snowy  sides  of  each 
mountain,  and  increasing  momentarily  in  intensity  of 
splendour. 

*•  The  Jungfrau  has  a  heart  of  fire  beneath  her  cold, 
white  bosom,"  cried  the  musician.  "  And  see  the  others  ! 


THE   ALPINE  FIRE.  185 

Now  the  Monch  has  caught  the  glow  —  and  now  it  over- 
spreads the  Eiger." 

The  mountains  were  transfigured.  The  wave  of  rose 
colour  swept  over  the  Bliimlisalp,  and  then,  quicker  than 
thought,  the  whole  range  glowed  as  if  fires  raging  within 
were  striving  to  break  through  the  icy  barriers  of  the 
glaciers.  Who  that  has  seen  the  Alpgliihen  can  forget  it  ? 
It  thrills  the  heart  and  inspires  the  soul ;  the  lonely  and 
majestic  peaks,  touched  by  the  sacred  fires  of  heaven,  for 
a  moment  before  the  darkness  comes,  seem  to  draw  one 
toward  them,  upward  and  out  of  the  commonplace  high- 
ways and  vulgar  plains  of  the  grovelling  world. 

When  the  Alpgliihen  was  over  the  shadows  leaped 
audaciously  to  the  very  summit  of  the  Casino  terrace, 
and  the  sound  of  music  came  from  a  grove  on  a  hill  near 
by. 

"A  concert!  fitting  end  for  such  an  ideal  day,"  said 
Stanislas.  "  Let  us  go  and  hear  these  rustics  interpret 
Strauss  and  Schubert.  What !  no  —  yes  —  they  have 
even  ventured  to  attack  Beethoven.  Who  will  go?  " 

"  Not  I,"  said  Vera.  "  I  begin  to  feel  a  chill.  And  as 
Mrs.  Harrelston  has  already  complained  of  the  night  air,  I 
will  accompany  her,  if  she  will  allow  me,  to  the  hotel." 

"  Yes,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Merlin-,  in  a  low  voice  to  Alice's 
mother.  "  I  will  look  after  the  girls  and  bring  'em  home 
early." 

So  Mrs.  Harrelston  and  Vera  went  away  together. 

****** 
Mrs.  Merlin  was  undoubtedly  in  earnest  when  she 
promised  to  "  look  after  the  girls,"  but  the  good  soul  was 
tired,  and  sat  down  on  a  bench  as  soon  as  she  had  been 
once  around  the  concert  garden  with  the  young  couples. 
The  result  was  that  Pleasant  and  Alice  strayed  in  one 
direction,  and  Stanislas  and  Caro  in  another,  and  even  had 
the  old  lady  tried  to  discover  them  she  would  have  found 


186  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

it  difficult,  for  the  little  grove  was  filled  with  couples 
promenading  and  laughing  and  talking  in  undertones, 
while  the  music  went  dreamily  on. 

"Well."  said  the  Indian  to  Alice,  as  they  came  to 
the  edge  of  a  terrace  higher  than  that  of  the  Casino,  and 
overlooking  the  pleasant  valley  and  the  roaring  river, 
"  to-morrow  you  will  be  on  your  way  to  Paris,  and  I  shall 
be  quite  alone." 

"Alone!"  said  the  girl.  "Oh  no!  You  will  have 
your  Russian-Polish  friends  to  comfort  you." 

"Friends!"  exclaimed  Pleasant  impatiently.  "What 
are  they  to  me  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  Mr.  Merrinott!  And  after  we  found  you  on 
your  knees  before  one  of  them  this  morning!"  Alice 
laughed  merrily. 

"  Ah !  that  must  have  looked  right  silly.  But  I  was 
only  picking  up  a  handkerchief.  I  hope  you  do  not  think 
that  I  was  adoring  that  young  woman.  She  frightens  me, 
but  she  could  never  fascinate.  By  the  way,  what  has 
become  of  Colonel  Cliff  ?  ' ' 

"  Poor  man  !  No  one  has  given  him  a  thought  to-day. 
Yet  he  is  very  gallant  —  and  —  and  useful.  He  has  gone 
flying  off  to  Spain, ,in  obedience  to  a  telegram,  to  look  at 
some  mines  in  which  he  has  chosen  to  interest  himself,  and 
we  shall  not  see  him  again  for  a  month.  He  will  come 
back  to  Paris  when  he  has  finished  his  business.  Look, 
Mr.  Merrinott,  the  mountains  —  our  dear  old,  snowy, 
delightful  friends !  There  they  are  once  more.  They 
have  come  out  from  behind  their  veil  to  say  good-bye." 

Tho  moon  was  rising,  and  the  Alps  were  dimly  visible 
—  a  faint  white  line — on  the  far-off  horizon. 

"  I  hate  those  words  '  good-bye,'  "  said  Pleasant. 

"  I  suppose  that  is  the  reason  that  you  gave  me  hardly 
time  to  say  them  when  you  rushed  away  on  the  Brunig  the 
other  day.  Well,  now  we  must  say  them  again.  Good- 


THE   ALPINE   FIRE.  187 

bye,  old  friends,"  she  said,  stretching  out  one  hand  and 
pointing  to  the  mountains.  "  Perhaps  some  day  we  shall 
see  you  once  more.  Perhaps  I  shall  return  to  your 
beautiful  valley  of  Meiringen." 

She  stood  gazing  intently  at  the  snow-clad  chain  for 
some  moments,  then  glanced  up  at  the  young  Indian,  but 
she  looked  down  again  immediately,  and  her  heart  beat 
loudly  and  fast. 

Pleasant  stood  bareheaded  beside  her,  with  his  lips 
parted,  and  such  adoration  in  his  eyes  that  she  could  not 
misinterpret  his  intention.  She  tried  to  speak  and  to 
move  away,  but  it  was  too  late. 

"Miss  Ilarrelston  —  Alice,"  he  said,  "I  cannot  let 
you  go  without  telling  you  what  my  sta}7  among  those 
mountains  has  taught  me.  It  has  taught  me  that  I  love 
you  —  that  I  love  you  —  hopelessly  perhaps,  but  for  ever 
—  forever."  He  leaned  against  the  railing  of  the  ter- 
race ;  for  now  that  he  had  said  his  say,  his  courage  and 
his  strength  were  ebbing  away  together. 

Alice  said  nothing. 

"  Your  silence  frightens  me,  Miss  Ilarrelston,"  he 
stammered.  "  If  I  have  done  wrong  —  if  I  have  offended 
you  —  let  us  have  the  good-bye  for  ever  now  —  here  —  at 
the  gate  of  this  enchanted  land  where  I  have  been  so 
happy."  He  held  out  his  hand. 

The  Alpgliihen !  Beautiful  as  it  had  seemed  when  it 
illuminated  the  virginal  front  of  the  Jungfrau,  it  was  dull 
and  faint  in  Pleasant' s  eyes  by  comparison  with  the  rose- 
ate glow  which  overspread  Alice's  cheeks  and  brow  as  he 
took  her  unresisting  hand  in  his,  and  with  a  sudden  sense 
of  triumph  drew  her  to  his  breast.  No  one  was  near  the 
youthful  pair ;  the  promenaders  were  turned  aside  from 
the  terrace  by  that  happy  hazard  which  so  often  protects 
the  meetings  of  true  lovers.  Alice  felt  a  burning  kiss 
upon  her  forehead,  and  strangely  mingled  with  the  mur- 


188  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

mur  of  the  waters  of  the  Aar,  as  it  hurried  past  the 
ancient  town,  she  seemed  to  hear  the  words  — 

"Forgive  me,  Alice,  and  love  me  !  Forgive  me,  Alice 
—  and  give  me  your  love,  as  I  give  you  mine  !  " 

When  conscience-stricken  Mrs.  Merlin  found  them  and 
begged  them  to  help  her  "  hunt  up  Caro  and  Stanislas," 
they  were  standing  a  little  apart,  and  looking  silently  and 
steadfastly  out  upon  the  dimly-defined  line  of  the  Alps  — 
those  mighty  guardians  of  the  sweet  vale  of  Meiringen, 
the  vale  where  they  had  learned  to  love  each  other. 


CHAPTER  XVH. 

CARO'S   CONFESSION. 

CARO  and  Stanislas  were  not  found  without  difficulty.  At 
last  they  were  discovered,  sitting  on  a  bench  under  a  tree, 
and  seemingly  engaged  in  a  vehement  discussion. 

"You  naughty  girl!  "  said  Mrs.  Merlin,  "to  give  me 
such  a  scare !  I  thought  you'd  fell  off  from  the  high 
wall  and  got  all  smashed  to  pieces.  Stanislas,  that  child's 
jest  ketchin'  her  death  o'  cold !  Come !  We  must  all 
go  in!" 

"You  have  but  to  command,  and  we  obey,"  said  the 
musician  gallantly ;  but  his  brow  was  disfigured  by  an 
ugly  scowl,  and  he  made  an  impatient  gesture,  which 
might  have  been  interpreted,  by  an  acute  observer,  as 
signifying  a  desire  to  throw  the  old  lady  from  the  terrace 
wall  of  which  she  had  spoken. 

Caro's  face  was  flushed,  her  lips  were  tightly  com- 
pressed, and  her  blue  eyes  were  wide  open,  with  a  startled 
look  in  them.  She  arose  wearily,  and,  without  making 
any  reply  to  her  mother's  remarks  that  "she  was  in  a 
gallopin'  fever,  and  probably  would  be  down  sick  as  soon 
as  she  got  back  to  Paris,"  she  left  the  garden  leaning  on 
the  musician's  arm.  The  old  lady  cast  a  sharp  look  at 
Miss  Harrelston,  who  lingered  behind  with  Pleasant, 
evidently  very  much  interested  in  what  he  was  saying. 

189 


190  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

Suddenly  he  took  her  hand,  and  Mrs.  Merlin  observed 
that  he  held  it  rather  longer  than  was  customary ;  then 
he  bowed  gravely  and  left  her.  Alice  came  running  to 
join  the  others. 

""What's  the  matter  with  the  Injun?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Merlin.  "  He  popped  off  as  if  you  had  sent  him  to  scalp 
one  of  your  enemies." 

"More  of  his  eccentricity,"  said  Alice,  averting  her 
pretty  face  so  that  the  old  lady  should  not  see  the  rosy 
colour  which  invaded  it.  "  He  has  an  insane  notion  that 
he  wishes  to  stay  on  the  terrace  until  midnight,  looking  at 
the  Alps.  So  I  told  him  that  he  must  do  that  alone,  and 
he  seemed  the  least  bit  offended  at  it.  Then  I  explained 
that  it  would  not  be  proper  for  me  to  remain  longer,  and 
bade  him  good  night.  I  don't  think  he  liked  that,  either." 

"No;  I '11  be  bound  he'd  ruthcr  have  had  company," 
remarked  the  old  lady.  "And  a  mighty  sight  he  would 
have  cared  whether  it  was  proper  or  not !  Proper's  a 
word  that  don't  trouble  his  sleep  much !  " 

Stanislas  was  bidding  Caro  good-night  in  the  garden 
of  the  hotel,  when  Vera  appeared  beside  them  as  if  she 
had  sprung  out  of  the  ground.  Caro  gave  a  little  scream, 
and  looked  rather  indignantly  at  the  fair  intruder.  The 
fact  was  that  the  musician  had  taken  Caro's  hand,  and 
was  bending  over  it  to  touch  it  with  his  lips  when  the 
Russian  girl  loomed  up  like  a  vindictive  sprite.  Caro 
withdrew  her  hand  so  quickly  that  Stanislas  was  vexed, 
and  when  he  saw  Vera  his  eyes  flashed,  and  the  sinister 
expression  which  so  transfigured  his  face  came  over  it. 

"  Continue  your  devotions,  Brother  Stanislas,"  said 
Vera;  "you  could  not  have  a  fairer  goddess.  I  like  to 
see  that  the  old-fashioned  gallantry  still  survives." 

"  It  is  the  future  diva  that  I  am  saluting,"  said  Stanis- 
las. "  The  great  singer  whose  hand  we  shall  all  esteem 
it  an  honour  to  kiss." 


CARD'S  CONFESSION.  191 

t;  Of  course,"  said  Vera  faintly.  Caro  fancied  that  a 
pained  expression  settled  upon  Vera's  face.  "  I  am  glad 
that  Mademoiselle  has  a  fine  career  before  her.  I  shall 
watch  her  progress  with  as  much  interest  as  you  show, 
brother." 

Caro  fancied  that  there  was  a  hidden  meaning  in  these 
words.  There  was  the  ring  of  menace  in  Vera's  tones. 
Caro  looked  in  the  Russian  girl's  face,  determined  to 
read  the  secret  which  she  felt  was  lurking  there,  and 
which  perhaps  concerned  her  own  happiness.  But  she 
shuddered  and  looked  away  again,  out  toward  the  broad 
expanse  of  green  hills  dimly  seen  in  the  white  moonlight. 
For  into  Vera's  eyes  came  a  hard,  cruel  expression  —  that 
of  a  jealous  enemy,  determined  to  rid  herself  of  the  object 
of  her  resentment.  Caro  felt  as  if  she  were  in  Vera's 
power ;  that  Vera  could,  with  a  turn  of  her  hand,  annihilate 
her  when  she  was  in  that  mood.  Then  the  look  vanished, 
as  if  Vera  had  recalled  it  into  the  depths  of  her  soul,  out 
of  which  it  had  come  at  her  bidding,  and  she  smiled  so 
sweetly  and  chatted  so  pleasantly  for  five  minutes  that  she 
almost  dispelled  the  impression  which  she  had  made.  Yet, 
when  she  had  said  "good-night,"  and  gone  away  with 
Stanislas,  Caro  felt  the  meaning  of  the  black  looks  rising 
in  her  heart  as  a  cloud  comes  to  darken  the  brightness  of 
the  sky.  She  stood  quite  still  in  the  shade  of  a  clump 
of  rose-bushes  in  the  garden,  as  amazed  and  frightened  as 
she  would  have  been  had  a  serpent  raised  its  head  from 
the  dust  at  her  feet  and  hissed  at  her.  But  her  mother's 
voice  presently  recalled  her  to  her  senses,  and  she  went  in, 
glancing  now  and  then  behind  her,  as  if  afraid  of  some 
unseen  malignant  influence. 

Alice  had  stolen  to  her  own  room,  which  opened  out  of 
a  parlour,  on  the  other  side  of  which  was  Mrs.  Harrelston's 
bed-chamber.  She  would  rather  not  have  seen  her  moth- 
er that  night ;  she  was  aaxious  to  be  alone  —  to  think — to 


192  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

question  herself.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  the  kiss  which 
had  fallen  upon  her  brow  must  be  visible  there,  like  a 
diamond  star  in  a  diadem.  She  wished  to  see  if  she  were 
not  transfigured  by  the  touch.  But  she  heard  her  mother 
calling,  and  went  to  her,  to  receive  a  mild  reproof  for  her 
conduct  in  staying  out  so  late. 

"  By  the  way,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Harrelston,  who  was 
reposing  in  an  arm-chair,  while  Bertine  carefully  brushed 
out  her  long  hair,  ' '  I  meant  to  have  spoken  to  you  about 
—  about  Mr.  Merrinott.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  spoken 
sooner.  I  am  not  quite  sure  whether  I  ought  to  invite 
him  to  call  on  us  when  he  comes  to  Paris.  Not  that  I 
have  any  reason  for  distrusting  the  young  man,  or  dis- 
liking him,  but  I  think  I  should  like  to  ask  your  papa's 
advice  before  I  ask  him  to  call.  I  must  tell  you  that  I 
happened  to  mention  in  a  letter  to  ycur  father  that  the 
young  Indian  was  at  Meiringen,  and  from  a  sentence  or 
two  in  his  answer,  which  has  just  reached  me,  I  don't  think 
he  liked  it.  In  fact,  I  am  sure  that  he  did  not  like  it.  So, 
perhaps  we  will  not  ask  him  to  call  —  but  we  will  see. 
How  hot  and  flushed  your  face  is,  daughter.  You  need 
rest,  and  you  may  rise  as  late  as  you  please  to-morrow. 
The  porter  has  taken  us  a  coupe  in  the  afternoon  train, 
and  I  think  we  shall  have  a  comfortable  ride  from  Pontar- 
lier.  Remember  about  Mr.  Merriuott." 

"  Very  well,  mamma.     Good  night." 

Alice  went  to  her  own  room,  reflecting  that  Pleasant 
Merrinott  was  the  sort  of  person  who  would  call  without 
invitation,  if  he  felt  a  desire  to  see  her,  and  who  would 
make  short  work  of  all  obstacles  in  his  way. 

Bcrtinc  came  to  her  presently,  and  found  her  young 
mistress  much  less  exacting  than  usual.  Her  task  was 
over  quickly,  and  she  went  away  convinced  that  Mademoi- 
selle Alice  was  nervous  and  abstracted.  Miss  Harrelston 
was  sleepless,  and,  arrayed  in  a  long  silk  wrapper,  she 


CAKO'S   CONFESSION.  193 

sat  down  in  a  cosy  chair  near  the  toilette-table.  Her 
luxuriant  hair  fell  about  her  neck  and  shoulders,  and,  in 
the  dim  light  furnished  by  the  two  tall  regulation  candles, 
which  in  Swiss  hotels  are  supposed  to  do  the  duty  of  gas, 
she  looked  like  an  old  picture  of  some  fair  saint  musing  in 
her  cloister  upon  things  divine.  And  what  is  there  diviner 
in  the  mystery  of  existence  than  a  maiden  musing  over  the 
dream  of  love  in  her  heart,  over  the  inexplicable  boldness, 
the  sudden  confession  of  affection  into  which  she  has  been 
betrayed  by  overwhelming  emotions  of  the  very  existence 
of  which  she  has  hitherto  had  no  suspicion? 

It  was  a  warm  night ;  the  window  of  her  room  was  open, 
and  the  faint  odour  of  the  plants  and  shrubs  in  the  garden 
drifted  in.  A  wandering  beam  of  moonlight  had  strayed 
through  the  half-closed  shutters,  and  seemed  stealing 
timidly  and  reverently  toward  her,  as  if  to  kiss  the  hem  of 
her  garments.  The  sound  of  the  river's  rapid  current  was 
delicious  in  her  ears,  for  mingled  with  it  she  still  heard, 
"•  Forgive  me,  Alice,  and  give  me  your  love,  as  I  give  you 
mine !  ' '  Was  she  to  blame  for  having  listened  to  this 
passionate  entreaty,  which  now  seemed  to  follow  her  every- 
where —  on  the  wings  of  the  wind,  in  the  murmur  of  the 
stream,  and  in  the  hundred  other  mysterious  voices  of  this 
summer  night  among  the  Swiss  mountains  ?  No ;  she 
would  not  reproach  herself.  Yet  she  felt  a  vague  dread 
that  sorrow  was  in  store  for  her ;  that  this  strange  being 
who  had  now  become  so  precious  in  her  sight  was  doomed 
to  woes  and  disappointment  and  bitterness  which  would 
rack  her  heart-strings  as  fiercely  as  his  own.  But  nothing 
could  have  induced  her  to  give  up  his  love,  in  which  she 
believed  as  in  a  religion,  and  which  had  become  part  and 
parcel  of  herself.  She  was  happy  ;  and  even  the  shadowy 
prospect  of  possible  future  unhappiness  could  not  destroy 
the  charm  which  had  fallen  upon  her.  So  she  sat  quite 
still,  staring  at  the  intruding  moonbeam  with  eyes  which 


194  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

did  not  see  it,  and  which  saw  only  the  form  of  the  loved 
one. 

She  was  aroused  from  her  reverie  by  a  faint  rustling 
and  a  gentle  tapping  at  a  door  which  opened  into  the 
corridor.  She  had  locked  the  door  communicating  with 
the  drawing-room  when  Bertine  retired,  and  her  first 
thought  was  that  her  mother  had  arisen,  had  discovered 
that  fact,  and  had  stolen  into  the  passage  to  see  if  her 
daughter  had  gone  to  bed.  Presently  came  another  timid 
knock.  Alice  sprang  up,  looking  around  her,  and  her 
heart  beat  violently.  A  glance  at  the  tiny  clock  on  the 
mantle-piece  told  her  that  it  was  almost  one  o'clock. 

"  Who  is  there?  "  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Are  you  asleep,  Alice?"  was  the  rather  absurd 
question,  which  came  through  the  keyhole  in  a  whisper. 

' '  Caro  !  What  can  she  want  at  this  hour  ?  ' '  And 
Alice  opened  the  door  to  the  girl,  who  hastened  in  as  if 
she  were  pursued,  and  sank  down  on  the  nearest  chair. 
Caro  was  quite  pale,  and  there  were  traces  of  tears  upon 
her  face.  She  had  donned  an  old  wrapper  decorated  with 
ink-stains  ;  her  hair  was  in  disorder,  and  in  one  hand  she 
held  a  portfolio  and  a  pen,  which  articles  explained  the 
spots.  Her  blue  eyes  were  so  full  of  pain  that  Alice's 
tender  heart  was  touched. 

"  You  frightened  me,  Caro,"  she  said  ;  "  but  you  seem 
more  alarmed  and  agitated  than  I  am.  Have  you  seen  a 
ghost,  dear,  or  have  you  been  seized  with  inspiration  and 
begun  to  write  an  opera?  " 

Caro  sighed.  "  Mother's  gone  to  bed  and  locked  her 
door,  and  I've  been  writing,  and  got  so  nervous  I  thought 
I  should  fly.  Mother  gave  me  a  scolding,  too,  before  she 
went  to  her  room.  It  wasn't  necessary  ;  I  was  miserable 
enough  without  it.  Oh  !  Alice,  I  wish  I  were  dead  !  " 

Alice  took  the  pen  and  portfolio  from  the  girl's  feverish 
hand  and  laid  them  on  the  toilette-table.  Then  yhe  in- 


CAKO'S   CONFESSION.  195 

stalled  her  in  the  arm-chair,  and  sat  down  on  a  stool  at 
her  feet. 

"  You  are  nervous  and  worried,"  she  said  kindly, 
"  and  you  hardly  know  what  you  are  saying.  The  idea 
of  wishing  yourself  dead  just  as  you  are  beginning  to 
live  !  " 

Caro  looked  doubtfully  at  her,  with  a  strongly  pro- 
nounced desire  to  burst  into  tears  anew ;  but  she  re- 
strained this,  and  said  rather  fiercely  — 

"  No,  I  don't  wish  I  were  dead,  but  I  do  wish  I  were 
back  in  Illinoy  !  I  wish  I  had  never  seen  Europe,  never 
heard  of  it.  I  wish  it  were  buried  under  ten  millions  of 
Swiss  glaciers  !  ' ' 

"  Why,  Caro,"  said  Alice,  to  whom  the  world  at  that 
moment  seemed  a  fair  and  goodly  place,  and  the  corner 
of  Europe  where  she  then  was  especially  dear,  "  how  can 
you  be  out  of  humour  with  Europe,  when  you  are  just  on 
the  threshold  of  success  here  ?  ' ' 

"  No,  no,  Alice,"  said  the  girl  ruefully,  "  you  are 
mistaken;  I  shall  fail  —  I  feel  that  I  shall  fail.  It  has 
been  a  miserable  dream,  and  now  I  wish  with  all  my 
heart  that  I  had  never  stirred  from  the"  spot  where  I  was 
born." 

The  tears  glistened  in  the  great  blue  eyes,  and  Alice 
felt  moved  and  sympathetic.  Caro's  Western  frankness 
might  have  offended  her  delicate  sensibility  at  another 
time,  but  now  it  seemed  natural  and  somewhat  reasonable. 
There  was  a  growing  suspicion  in  her  mind  that  this  de- 
spondent mood  was  due  to  something  that  Stanislas  had 
said,  or  had  not  said,  but  she  did  not  feel  as  if  she  ought 
to  ask  Caro  if  that  were  true. 

"  You  will  not  fail,  my  dear,  overworked,  little  singer." 
she  said.  "  You  vrnist  not  fail.  You  would  break  all  our 
hearts.  Think  how  much  pride  we  take  in  your  progress, 
and  in  the  thought  of  your  coining  success  !  But  you 


196  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

must  not  use  your  strength  so  lavishly.  You  have  been 
writing  an  hour  after  you  should  have  been  in  bed.  Now 
was  that  wise  ?  ' ' 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  said  the  girl.  "  That's  my  corre- 
spondence." 

"  Your  correspondence?  But  your  friends  can  wait  — 
when  you  are  weary." 

' '  My  friends  !  I  write  three  letters  a  mouth  to  a  Chi- 
cago newspaper,  and  one  to  a  weekly  in  "Wisconsin.  And 
I  can't  write  when  mother  is  around,  so  I  wait  until  she 
is  in  bed.  I'm  lucky  to  get  the  work,  for  if  I  hadn't  got 
it  we  should  have  had  to  go  home  long  ago.  Neither 
mother  nor  I  had  any  idea  of  the  expense  out  here  when 
we  came,  and  so  —  but  let's  not  talk  about  that.  It  makes 
my  head  ache  to  think  of  it.  There's  a  two-column 
account  of  the  Giessbach  Fall  in  that  portfolio,  and  six 
columns  like  that  will  buy  me  the  dress  which  I  must 
have  when  I  go  back  to  Paris,  and  will  help  to  pay  our 
rent.  That's  worth  while.  But  I'm  sick  and  tired  of 
everything,  and  I  know  this  last  letter  is  gloomy  enough 
for  the  obituary  column." 

"  No,"  said  Alice,  determined  to  encourage  her,  "  you 
will  not  fail.  The  very  fact  that  you  have  the  energy  to 
write  letters  after  midnight  is  a  proof  of  that.  I  cannot 
understand  your  new  mood,  dear.  Has  Monsieur  Stanis- 
las been  saying  something  discouraging?  " 

"  Don't  speak  of  Stanislas  !     I  hate  him  !  " 

"  Indeed  !  "  Alice  looked  up  into  the  girl's  face  with  a 
quaint  smile.  Caro's  lips  trembled,  and  her  eyes  brimmed 
over.  "  You  must  allow  me  to  doubt  that.  I  should 
almost  have  thought  the  contrary." 

Miss  Merlin's  face  was  a  curious  study.  The  girl  tried 
hard  to  return  Alice's  inquiring  look,  but  she  could  not. 
The  tears  were  a  torrent  now,  and  Alice  was  surprised  to 
feel  Caro's  arms  thrown  impetuously  around  her  neck, 


OARO'S   CONFESSION.  197 

Caro's  head  upon  her  shoulder,  and  Caro's  whole  frame 
convulsed  with  sobs. 

"What  is  it  that  has  so  grieved  you,  dear?"  said 
Alice. 

""Well,  I  don't  care;  I  can't  conceal  it;  I  must  have 
some  one  to  talk  to,  or  I  shall  die.  I  do  love  him  ;  I  wor- 
ship him  ;  I  adore  his  genius,  and  I  love  him  as  I  did  not 
believe  I  could  love  anything  on  earth." 

Alice  was  startled  at  the  vehemence  of  Caro's  emotions. 
But  she  said  softly  — 

"Well,  there  is  no  sin  in  loving  Stanislas.  I  am  not 
worldly-wise,  as  you  know.  It  may  not  be  prudent  to 
love  such  a  wayward  genius,  but  certainly  there  is  no 
reason  why  it  should  make  you  so  melancholy.  Cheer  up, 
Caro,  and  tell  me  everything." 

Caro  raised  her  head,  and  looked  at  Alice  almost  defi- 
antly for  an  instant.  "  There  is  nothing  more  to  tell," 
she  said,  "  unless  —  unless  I  tell  you  that  my  love,  which 
a  month  ago  made  me  happy  —  made  my  whole  life  blessed 
—  now  causes  my  wretchedness.  Oh,  Alice,  I  believed  in 
Stanislas ;  I  thought  him  a  demi-god.  It  never  seemed 
to  me  that  he  could  be  a  creature  made  of  common  clay 
like  the  rest  of  us.  The  very  thought  that  he  took  an 
interest  in  me  —  in  my  welfare  —  seemed  to  inspire  me. 
I  don't  believe  you  could  understand  what  devotion  I  felt 
for  that  man.  To  have  had  his  love  would  have  seemed 
to  me  the  best  thing  in  the  world.  Oh,  why  did  I  ever 
see  him?  Why  did  I  ever  come  to  this  miserable  Europe, 
where  everything  that  seems  beautiful  and  sincere  and 
noble  has  a  lie  hidden  behind  it  ?  " 

"  Be  calm,  Caro.  You  will  wake  mamma.  Remember 
that  it  is  very  late.  Can  you  not  tell  me  why  you  have 
lost  faith  in  Stanislas  ?  ' ' 

Caro  did  not  directly  answer  the  question.  After  a 
minute's  silence,  she  said  — 


198  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

"Did  you  observe  that  woman  in  the  garden  when  we 
came  in  to-night  ?  You  should  have  seen  her  when  she 
went  away  with  Stanislas  ! ' ' 

"  His  sister?  Why?  What  new  freak  has  that  eccen- 
tric young  person  been  guilty  of  ?  " 

"  The  sister  of  Stanislas !  Alice,  she  is  no  more  his 
sister  than  I  am  —  than  you  are  !  " 

The  two  girls  arose  together,  and  stood  looking  at  each 
other. 

"  Surely,"  said  Alice,  "  you  would  not  have  me  believe 
that  Stanislas  is  not  a  gentleman." 

"  Oh,  no  !  I  don't  know  what  I  think  !  There  is  some 
strange  n^stery  here,  of  which  we  have  only  seen  one 
thread.  I  accuse  nobody.  I  suspect  everybody.  I  am 
wretched.  I  know  that  the  woman  is  not  the  sister  of 
Stanislas,  but  let  us  not  talk  of  that !  I  will  know  who 
and  what  she  is !  But  I  feel  a  presentiment,  Alice,  that 
she  is  stronger  than  I  am,  and  that  she  has  thrown  a 
shadow  over  my  life.  If  I  were  superstitious  I  should 
believe  that  she  possesses  the  evil  eye  !  I  tell  you,  Alice, 
I  have  lost  my  faith  and  my  courage  all  at  once,  and  I  am 
miserable.  I  love  Stanislas  still,  but  I  no  longer  believe 
in  him  ;  and  that  is  torture.  I  am  glad  that  we  are  going 
back  to  Paris,  away  from  him,  to-morrow." 

"  To-day,  you  mean,"  said  Alice.  "  Look  at  the  clock, 
and  then  run  to  bed.  We  will  talk  this  over  on  the 
journey." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

BETWEEN    SORROW   AND    DOUBT. 

PLEASANT  felt  as  if  he  had  fallen  from  the  clouds.  He 
was  standing  on  the  Pont  du  Mont  Blanc  at  Geneva, 
gazing  idly  into  the  waters  of  the  Rhone,  as  they  rushed 
out  of  the  lake  and  away,  past  the  quaint,  tall  houses, 
down  the  valley  toward  the  sun-swept  lands  of  the  south. 
The  old  town  seemed  asleep.  Half  an  hour  earlier  a 
steamer,  laden  with  excursionists,  had  noisily  left  the 
quay  for  Vevey ;  now  it  had  vanished  in  the  blue  distance. 
Mont  Blanc  was  hidden  behind  a  white  curtain.  On  the 
small  island  between  the  Pont  des  Bergues  and  the  bridge 
where  Pleasant  stood,  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau  appeared  to 
nod  upon  his  pedestal,  whence  he  has  for  so  many  years 
looked  out  on  Lake  Leman  with  grave,  mournful  air,  as  in 
life  he  looked  at  it.  The  brawny  washer- women,  leaning 
over  the  sides  of  the  wash-houses  securely  moored  in  the 
impetuous  stream,  lazily  drew  the  garments  which  they 
were  cleaning  through  the  cool  water.  They  seemed  at 
play  rather  than  at  work.  The  sun  was  hot,  and  the 
sailors  from  the  small  schooners  which  ply  up  and  down 
the  lake  with  loads  of  stone  and  lumber  were  coiled  on  the 
benches  in  the  Public  Garden,  and  were  fast  asleep.  Down 
the  Rue  du  Mont  Blanc  a  solitary  pedestrian  was  making 
his  way,  timidly,  as  if  he  felt  qualms  of  conscience  at  being 
abroad  at  that  particular  time. 

199 


200  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

Pleasant  looked  up  from  the  water.  His  head  was 
beginning  to  turn,  and  he  rested  his  eyes  on  the  deep  green 
of  the  trees  on  Rousseau's  island,  and  then  on  the  tender 
blue  of  the  sky.  The  witchery  of  September  in  this 
delightful  mountain  region  was  at  its  height ;  air,  water, 
earth  were  lovely,  and  at  peace.  Even  the  austere  dome 
of  the  ancient  church  in  which  Calvin  once  preached  was 
tipped  with  sunbeams.  How  did  John  Calvin  bend  to  bis 
rigorous  and  terrible  discipline  a  people  born  beneath  such 
Italian  skies,  beside  such  vine-clad  hills  and  such  enchanted 
streams  ?  How  mighty  was  the  genius  that  could  bring 
harsh,  stern,  terrible  doctrine  into  such  a  smiling  region, 
and  plant  it  there,  and  make  it  grow  and  flourish  !  Pleas- 
ant had  been  reading  about  Calvin  and  his  sojourn  in 
Geneva,  and  he  wondered  how  the  Genevese  could  ever 
have  allowed  the  sweet  hill  of  Champel  to  be  desecrated  by 
the  burning  of  Michael  Servetus,  who  had  dared  to  express 
mild  doubts  as  to  the  dogma  of  the  Trinity.  But  he  forgot 
that  in  winter  the  aspect  of  nature  at  Geneva  is  harsh  and 
forbidding  enough  to  foster  the  most  severe  and  melancholy 
thoughts,  and  that  perhaps  the  fierce  heart  of  Calvin,  which 
had  been  nourished  in  its  sternness  by  the  winds,  the  snows, 
and  the  mists  of  December  and  January  in  the  mountains, 
felt  itself  touched  with  charity  and  pity,  and  now  and  then 
with  thrills  of  passion,  when  the  enchantment  of  September 
was  abroad  in  the  land. 

The  3'oung  Indian  did  not  think  twice  about  the  hill  of 
Champel,  and  the  flames  which  consumed  the  audacious 
Spaniard  Servetus,  for  a  far  more  engrossing  image  arose 
before  his  mental  vision. 

It  was  the  figure  of  Alice  as  he  had  seen  her  while  she 
stood  watching  the  "  Alp  glow  "  from  the  Casino  in  Berne. 
He  sighed  mournfully,  and  began  walking  slowly  to  and 
fro. 

It  was  ten  days  since  he  had  told  Alice  of  his  love; 


BETWEEN   SOKKOW  AND   DOUBT.  201 

since  that  brief,  tender,  yet  impassioned  confession  in  the 
moon-lit  garden.  And  he  had  not  seen  her  again  ;  he  had 
allowed  her  to  go  away  to  Paris  without  saying  good-bye ; 
without  returning  to  renew  his  vow  of  love,  to  which  she 
had  so  unresistingly  listened  ;  without  asking  the  privilege 
of  being  near  her  in  Paris.  How  could  he  explain  his 
action  to  her  —  to  the  gentlest,  the  best  of  women  —  to 
Alice  who  had  treated  him  with  such  delicate  and  refined 
consideration,  and  who  seemed  anxious  to  believe  him  a 
hero?  There  was  no  explanation  possible.  His  negli- 
gence was  an  affront  to  Alice  ;  and  now  this  child  of  Na- 
ture began  to  see  that  it  is  dangerous  to  yield  to  one's 
impulses  when  one  is  in  the  midst  of  civilization  ;  that 
conduct,  even  in  affairs  of  the  heart,  is  a  matter  of  cal- 
culation ;  and,  in  short,  that  he  had  been  guilty  of  an 
almost,  if  not  quite,  irreparable  blunder.  He  groaned 
aloud  as  he  contemplated  his  own  folly. 

The  truth  was  that  Pleasant  had  no  sooner  yielded  to 
the  desire  of  his  soul  to  tell  Alice  of  his  love  than  he  felt 
anew  that  he  had  been  false  to  his  "  mission."  This  gave 
him  inexpressible  pain,  and,  with  his  heart  torn  with  con- 
tending emotions,  he  had  left  her,  abruptly,  after  his 
declaration,  and  had  wandered  about  the  streets  of  Berne 
until  dawn,  battling  with  his  pride.  It  was  only  when  a 
prying  watchman  manifested  an  inclination  to  arrest  him 
as  a  prowling  vagabond  that  Pleasant  made  up  his  mind 
to  return  to  the  Hotel  Bellevue,  and  go  to  bed.  He  arose, 
after  two  or  three  hours  of  feverish  unrest,  and  went  out 
again  into  the  fields.  He  took  with  him  a  bundle  of  let- 
ters and  papers  which  had  arrived  by  the  morning  mail. 
Sitting  down  by  the  waters  of  the  singing  Aar,  he  un- 
folded one  of  the  papers,  a  Western  journal,  with  a 
curious  presentiment  in  his  mind  that  he  should  find 
something  in  it  that  would  help  him  to  decide  upon  his 
course  with  Alice. 


202  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

He  did  find  something,  which  caused  him  to  spring  to 
his  feet  with  an  angry  exclamation  at  his  lips,  and  his 
most  savage  frown  on  his  brow.  At  that  moment  he  put 
his  love  resolutely  behind  him. 

* '  I  was  a  fool !  "  he  said  ;  "  I  was  false  to  myself  — 
false  to  all  my  people  —  false  to  the  course  that  I  have 
marked  out.  I  must  never  see  Alice  Harrelston  again, 
nor  must  I  ever  think  of  loving  her.  Where  is  my  pride 
of  race  ?  Where  is  my  oath  that  I  had  taken  ?  lama 
fool!" 

The  paragraph  which  had  provoked  this  series  of  out- 
cries was  a  simple  statement  that  a  large  number  of  the 
white  invaders,  whose  daring  and  illegal  attempts  he  had 
described  to  Alice  with  so  much  warmth,  had  finally 
succeeded  in  "  squatting  "  upon  lands  in  the  Indian  Ter- 
ritory ;  and  that  they  had  been  enabled  to  do  this  b}*  the 
connivance  of  certain  white  men,  who,  a  few  years  pre- 
viously, had  married  Indian  wives  in  the  Cherokee  Nation, 
thus  acquiring  a  dubious  species  of  citizenship,  which  they 
had  now  basely  misused. 

;;  The  traitors  !  "  cried  Pleasant.  "  This  is  what  comes 
of  mixed  marriages.  A  few  more  of  them,  and  we  shall  no 
longer  be  in  existence!"  An  angry  flush  deepened  the 
bronze  on  his  face  as  he  thought  of  the  commingling  of 
blood  in  his  own  veins.  "  Let  it  stop  here  and  now  !  "  he 
said,  in  a  voice  broken  with  passion.  "  We  must  bend  back 
our  blood  to  the  ancient  strain  !  I  will  not  set  the  example 
of  another  departure  from  the  purity  of  the  race !  The 
dream  is  over.  I  must  think  of  Alice  no  more.  She  will 
forget  me  ;  she  will  think  that  my  words  spoken  in  the 
garden  were  the  ravings  of  a  silly  young  savage,  whose 
head  was  turned  by  the  moonlight." 

The  result  of  that  paragraph  in  the  Western  paper 
was  that  Alice  went  back  to  Paris  without  seeing  her  lover 
atniin.  I'ntil  an  hour  before  the  train  left  Berne  she 


BETWEEN   SORROW   AND   DOUBT.  203 

refused  to  believe  that  he  would  not  come  to  her.  She 
longed,  yet  dreaded  to  meet  him  once  more ;  and  it  was 
not  until  she  reached  her  home  the  next  day,  and  was 
alone  in  her  little  white  room  in  her  father's  house,  that 
she  realized  the  incomprehensible  rudeness  of  the  Indian's 
conduct.  She  had  taken  good  care  to  let  Caro  and  the 
two  mothers  know  nothing  about  it ;  but  it  made  a  deep 
wound  in  her  heart.  For  she  loved  him  ;  she  loved  his 
very  faults. 

Mrs.  Harrelston  was  glad  that  Pleasant  had  not 
appeared  on  the  day  of  their  departure,  and  she  did  not 
mention  his  name  to  her  daughter  during  the  journey. 

And  now  Pleasant,  on  the  bridge  at  Geneva,  was  sigh- 
ing over  his  own  acts.  For  although  he  was  stoutly 
resolved  not  to  yield  to  his  love,  he  felt  that  it  was  ripening 
in  his  heart,  and  that  he  could  not  cast  it  out.  A  dozen 
times  he  had  been  on  the  point  of  writing  to  Alice,  and  as 
many  times  he  had  drawn  back,  frightened,  before  the 
seemingly  impossible  task  of  repairing  his  rudeness.  He 
was  curious  to  know  what  Alice  thought  of  him  ;  whether 
she  were  really  offended  and  had  banished  him  from  her 
life  as  a  profitless  intruder,  and  whether  she  would  respect 
him  for  the  scruples  which  made  him  desperately  faithful 
to  his  race.  Alone  in  the  midst  of  unsympathetic  strangers, 
who  stared  and  scowled  at  him  as  if  they  suspected  him  of 
designs  upon  their  property,  and  uncertain  what  to  do, 
Pleasant  was  wretched.  He  had  faltered  by  the  way,  now. 
His  days  were  passed  in  idleness  and  his  nights  in  wakeful, 
bitter  musings  on  his  own  irresolution.  He  had  not  even 
bade  the  disciples  of  Bakounin  good-bye  on  leaving  Berne, 
but  had  left  a  note  for  them  saj-iug  that  he  might  possibly 
return. 

While  he  was  in  his  brown  study,  and  was  pacing  up 
and  down  so  nervously  that  one  or  two  loungers  on  the 
quay  fancied  him  contemplating  suicide,  and  were  medi- 


204  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

tating  how  they  could  save  him  if  he  should  suddenly 
spring  over  the  railings  into  the  rapid  stream,  he  felt  a 
gentle  touch  upon  his  shoulder,  and  looked  up  hurriedly. 
He  was  not  especially  pleased  to  find  Mademoiselle  Vera 
standing  near  him,  with  her  blue  eyes  filled  with  the  light 
of  a  very  graceful  smile,  and  one  well-gloved  hand  out- 
stretched in  token  of  greeting. 

"  How  do  you  do?"  she  said,  with  that  slight  accent 
upon  the  how  which  always  marks  the  foreigner  struggling 
with  the  rather  awkward  English  phrase.  "  Have  you 
been  holding  a  consultation  on  the  present  condition  of 
society  with  Jean  Jacques  ?  He  seems  to  have  been  saying 
something  very  dreadful,  for  you  are  as  solemn  as  —  what 
do  the  English  say?  —  as  solemn  as  a  church.  And  how 
came  you  in  Geneva?  " 

"•  I  might  ask  you  the  same  question,  Mademoiselle, 
with  the  same  surprise,"  said  Pleasant,  shaking  hands  and 
brightening  a  little,  for  conversation  with  a  fellow  creature 
was  likely  to  afford  momentary  relief  from  his  sorrow. 
' '  And  your  brother,  is  he  with  you  ?  ' ' 

"  Stanislas  has  gone  to  London.  The  cottage  is 
deserted,  the  servants  have  departed,  and  I  have  come  to 
Geneva  to  pursue  my  studies." 

"  Under  Professor  Bakouniu?  "  said  Pleasant. 

' '  The  water  may  hear  you.  The  bridge  might  report 
your  remarks.  Be  careful,  if  you  please,"  said  Vera. 
"  But  your  indiscretion  shall  be  answered,  for  are  you  not 
bound  to  us,  are  you  not  one  of  us,  henceforth?  " 

Pleasant  looked  up  quickly  at  Vera.  He  did  not  like 
this  cool  manner  of  assuming  possession  of  him  as  if  he 
were  a  person  of  no  strength  of  character. 

"  Excuse  me,"  he  said.  "I  reckon  there  is  a  slight 
misunderstanding.  I  am  not  one  of  yours  —  in  the  sense 
in  which  you  mean  it." 

"  Well,  perhaps  not  exactly,"  said  Vera,  with  a  nervous 


BETWEEN   SORROW   AND   DOUBT.  205 

laugh,  and  glancing  quickly  all  around  her.  "  But  you 
are  on  the  same  road  ;  we  are  fellow  travellers.  How  odd 
that  we  should  meet  near  the  statue  of  Rousseau  !  " 

"  Quite  appropriate,  is  it  not?  He  was  an  enemy  of 
society,  and  we ' ' 

Pleasant  stopped  short.  He  felt  as  if  a  great  struggle 
were  going  on  in  his  mind,  and  as  if  he  could  not  ~at 
that  moment  say,  as  he  would  have  said  frankly  enough 
not  long  before,  that  he  was  modern  society's  enem}-. 

"We  are  its  enemies  also,"  said  Vera,  finishing  his 
sentence.  ' '  Ah  !  but  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau  was  the  most 
useless  and  impracticable  of  beings.  He  spent  his  life  in 
endeavouring  to  form  a  new  society  in  accordance  with  an 
imaginary  compact,  and  wasted  his  hours  in  proclaiming 
absolute  equality;  but  he  suggested  no  means1  of  getting 
rid  of  the  old  society.  It  is  not  difficult  to  be  a  foe  in 
theory,  as  he  was.  Bah !  he  was  only  a  dreamer !  Yet 
perhaps  I  do  him  injustice,"  she  added,  approaching  the 
bridge's  railing,  and  looking  over  at  the  statue  of  the 
philosopher  as  if  she  were  mentally  taking  his  measure, 
and  correcting  some  of  her  hasty  impressions  concerning 
him.  "  He  was  a  pioneer,  and  that  is  a  great  deal.  It 
was  no  small  thing  to  hint  that  society  was  so  bad  that 
something  ought  to  be  substituted  for  it.  If  Jean  Jacques 
had  not  lived,  Bakounin  might  never  have  appeared.  Mr. 
Merrinott,  you  are  making  me  forget  my  prudence." 

"  I,  Mademoiselle  Vera,  —  "  stammered  the  Indian. 

"You  are  tempting  me  to  talk  on  a  subject  which 
ought  to  be  forgotten  for  the  moment.  I  am  afraid  that  I 
have  been  watched  for  the  last  few  days,  and  I  came  here 
in  the  hope  of  averting  suspicion.  Do  you  understand 
me?" 

"Perfectly.  Why  talk  Bakouuiu?  There  are  plenty 
of  interesting  topics  suggested  by  this  lovely  scene.  Now, 
Geneva  itself  is  what  I  call  a  right  beautiful  place.  And 


206  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

there's  Mont  Blanc  —  only  you  never  can  see  him  when 
you  wish."  The  youth  made  an  effort  to  be  cheerful,  but 
a  sigh  came  to  his  lips ;  yet  he  repeated  with  a  semblance 
of  merriment,  "  Why  talk  Bakounin?  " 

"  Ah  !  why,  indeed?  "  said  Vera  passionately,  clenching 
the  railing  with  both  her  small  hands.  "Because  the 
world  is  wrong  and  must  be  righted ;  because  one  is  re- 
minded of  it  at  every  turn,  and  suffers  in  consequence  of 
it  at  each  instant.  There  are  moments  when  I  would 
gladly  get  away  from  the  straggle.  Do  not  fancy  that  I 
have  not  moments  when  I  would  prefer  to  be  a  shepherdess 
—  even  such  a  one  as  we  see  in  Watteau's  pictures  — 
rather  than  a  disciple  of  Bakounin,  and  —  an  execu- 
tioner !  "  She  raised  her  right  hand  and  let  it  fall  heavily 
on  the  railing,  as  if  she  were  thinking  of  a  headsman  aim- 
ing a  blow  with  his  axe.  "But  I  am  glad  to  say  that 
such  longings  are  only  temporary,"  she  said,  looking  at 
Pleasant  with  a  smile,  which  made  her  intense  face  almost 
beautiful.  "  Shall  we  walk  a  little,  or  do  you  prefer  to 
remain  here,  pacing  back  and  forth  ?  I  assure  you  that 
you  look  much  more  like  a  conspirator  than  I  do.  And 
when  do  you  go  to  Paris?  " 

"I  —  I  don't  know.     Perhaps  not  at  all." 

"  Oh  !  you  are  bound  to  go  to  Paris,  for,  you  remember, 
you  are  the  subject  of  a  wager,  and  your  probation  will  not 
properly  begin  until  you  have  arrived  there." 

They  walked  on  together  across  the  Pont  du  Mont 
Blanc,  and  into  the  Jardin  du  Lac.  When  they  had  found 
a  shady  place  and  were  seated,  looking  out  upon  the  placid 
water,  dotted  in  the  distance  with  white  sails,  Vera  said 
abruptly  — 

"  Have  you  had  bad  news  from  your  Indians,  Mr.  Mer- 
rinott?  Your  face  is  full  of  sadness.  And  why  did  you 
leave  Berne  without  saying  adieu  to  any  one?  Do  you 
know  that  I  think  Ignatius  is  sharpening  his  knife  for 


BETWEEN   SORROW   AND   DOUBT.  207 

3~ou?  He  seemed  to  fancy  that  your  sudden  departure 
was  suspicious." 

"  Ignatius  !  Oh  !  the  old  Jew  !  Has  he  finished  the 
clock  of  destiny?" 

Vera  did  not  answer. 

"Forgive  me,"  said  Pleasant.  "I  will  be  prudent. 
We  will  ignore  those  matters,  if  we  can,  and  then  there 
will  be  no  danger." 

"  There  is  always  danger,"  said  the  girl.  "  But  I  do 
not  fear  for  myself,  as  you  know.  It  is  for  the  cause.  I 
hope  that  failure  may  not  come  just  yet  —  not  just  yet. 
And  as  for  your  question  about  Ignatius  — yes  ;  the  clock 
of  destiny  is  quite  finished." 

She  uttered  these  last  words  in  a  whisper  which  made 
Pleasant  shudder.  He  began  to  regret  that  he  had  ever 
known  this  mysterious  young  woman.  To-day  she  stirred 
up  a  rebellion  in  his  blood.  He  did  not  like  this  atmos- 
phere of  plots,  counterplots,  and  this  network  of  spies 
and  secret  agencies.  He  was  dissatisfied  with  society, 
unmistakabl}'  discontented  and  dangerously  aroused  by 
the  injustice  of  which  he  and  his  were  victims ;  but  the 
more  he  saw  of  the  working  of  Bakounin's  plan  the  more 
distasteful  and  dreadful  did  it  seem  to  him. 

"  Our  friends,  the  young  ladies  especially,  were  sorry 
that  you  did  not  come  to  see  them  off — the  next  day,  you 
remember.  I  think  they  were  a  bit  surprised." 

"Oh !  they  have  quite  forgotten  me  by  this  time,"  said 
Pleasant,  endeavouring  to  appear  unconcerned ;  but  his 
face  would  not  obey  his  will.  And  Vera  looked  straight 
at  him,  as  she  said  — 

"I  thought  Miss  Harrelston  remarked  your  absence. 
Indeed,  she  looked  as  if  she  fancied  Stanislas  and  I  were 
in  some  way  accountable  for  it." 

Pleasant's  scowl  relaxed.  He  was  glad  to  hear  that 
Alice  appeared,  at  least,  to  regret  that  he  had  not  seen  her 


208  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

again.  "  Miss  Harrelston  is  interested  in  my  work,  not 
in  me,  Mademoiselle  Vera,"  he  said,  vainly  endeavouring 
to  dissemble. 

"Do  you  think  so?"  The  tone  in  which  Vera  said 
this  indicated  plainly  to  Pleasant  that  he  could  not  mislead 
Vera.  "  How  smooth  the  lake  is  this  afternoon  !  Who 
would  believe,  seeing  it  in  a  wild  storm,  as  I  saw  it  once, 
when  the  great  masses  of  water  crushed  small  boats  as 
if  they  were  egg-shells,  that  it  could  ever  be  so  tranquil 
as  this?" 

"  Is  it  not  somewhat  like  the  society,  Mademoiselle  Vera, 
which  you  propose  to  destroy?  Will  not  society  settle 
back  into  its  accustomed  placidity,  after  you  have  startled 
it  to  its  greatest  depths  with  your  explosion?  " 

Vera's  eyes  flashed.  "  You  do  not  believe  in  us,"  she 
said.  "And  yet  —  you  can — you  must.  You  will  see 
that  what  3*011  desire  —  as  what  we  desire  —  can  be  at- 
tained only  as  we  propose  to  attain  it." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Pleasant  humbly,  "what  I  do 
think.  I  thought  that  my  mind  was  made  up,  and  now  I 
find  it  a  sort  of  chaos.  But  I  will  say,  in  a  general  way, 
that  if  I  were  commanding  a  great  army  on  a  march,  and 
I  found  that  this  lake  lay  in  my  path,  and  that  I  had  not 
time  to  go  round  it,  it  would  be  more  sensible  for  me  to 
devise  some  plan  of  floating  across  upon  its  surface  than 
to  spend  time  and  energy  in  devising  means  for  blowing 
up  its  basin,  in  the  hopes  of  producing  a  cataclysm  which 
would  change  the  face  of  nature." 

The  Russian  girl  smiled  contemptuously.  "  I  am 
afraid,"  she  said,  "  that  Rousseau  has  turned  your  head." 

"No,"  said  the  Indian.  "But,  for  the  moment,  I  con- 
fess that  I  feel  more  inclined  to  try  the  experiment  of 
floating  with  Rousseau  than  to  run  the  risk  of  being  sub- 
merged with  Bakounin." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

IN   THE    EXILE- WORLD. 

PLEASANT  and  Vera  talked  until  the  sun  went  down  and 
cool  shadows  began  to  creep  along  the  shores  of  the  lake. 
The  Russian  girl  quite  forgot  her  own  injunctions  about 
caution,  and  gossiped  freely  of  her  plans.  Pleasant  was 
more  distressed  than  flattered  by  this  proof  of  Vera's  con- 
fidence in  him.  He  could  not  refrain  from  admiring  her, 
but  he  dreaded  her.  When  she  arose  and  bade  him  good- 
night, he  felt  as  great  a  sense  of  relief  as  if  a  burden  had 
been  lifted  from  his  shoulders.  Yet  he  offered  to  escort 
her  to  her  lodgings. 

"No,  thank  you,"  she  said,  with  a  smile;  "  I  repeat 
that  you  look  more  like  a  conspirator  than  I  do  ;  and  you 
would  not  like  to  compromise  me,  I  am  sure.  I  am  very 
comfortably  installed  in  a  modest  pension,  where  I  am 
about  to  study  diligently,  for  a  short  time,  and  then  I 
shall  go  to  Paris." 

The  young  Indian  hoped  that  she  would  not  hesitate 
to  call  upon  him,  if  he  could  be  of  any  service  to  her. 
She  had  turned  to  go,  but  she  whirled  around  suddenly, 
poised  airily  on  one  foot,  and  looked  him  saucily  in  the 
face.  It  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  ever  seen  her 
attempt  anything  like  coquetry.  When  the  sinister  look 
went  away,  even  for  an  instant,  there  was  no  doubt  that 
she  was  attractive.  He  felt  the  fascination  of  her  presence. 

209 


210  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

"You  mean  what  you  say,  Mr.  Merrinott,"  she  said, 
slowly.  "  I  can  see  that  in  your  eyes.  But  if  your  offer 
of  service  were  accepted  —  if  your  friendliness  Were  put  to 
the  test  —  you  would  be  obliged  to  draw  back  from  it. 
For  what  can  it  mean  to  serve  such  a  person  as  I  am  ? 
Do  you  think  you  realize  all  that  it  means  ?  You  know 
that  my  life  is  concentrated  on  one  object  —  that  all  my 
•  efforts  tend  in  one  direction.  You  think  you  are  prepared 
to  help  me.  Think  twice,  Mr.  Merrinott,  think  twice." 

And  she  was  gone  before  he  could  say  anything.  Now 
he  was  more  profoundly  troubled  than  ever.  This  girl 
arose  in  his  path  whichever  way  he  turned,  and  seemed 
to  claim  him  for  her  service.  He  already  felt  a  strange 
sense  of  servility.  He  disliked  her  conspiracy,  and  yet  it 
was  hourly  assuming  increased  importance  in  his  thought. 

"  I  was  not  made  for  Europe,"  he  muttered  to  himself, 
as  he  wandered  along  the  dusty  road  toward  France, 
gazing  at  the  vineyards  and  the  pretty  gardens.  "  I  am 
as  stupid  and  silly  here  as  a  city  man  would  be  in  the 
woods  on  the  Grand  River  banks.  I  reckon  I  ought  to 
have  stayed  at  home.  What  have  I  accomplished  since 
I  came?  Nothing.  And  I  am  turned  round  and  round 
by  every  wind  that  blows.  Each  new  person  that  I  meet 
seems  to  work  some  change  in  my  mind.  No — no  —  this 
will  not  do.  I  must  shut  my  heart  up  against  everything 
except  my  poor  Chcrokees." 

A  "vision  arose  before  him  of  a  green  valley  near 
Tiihloquuh,  and  a  humble  yet  comfortable  farm-house 
.nestling  in  a  corner  of  the  vale.  Corn-fields  spread  away 
r1r> -right  and  left,  and  the  long  and  aromatic  sheaves  rustled 
musically  in  the  breeze.  Before  the  door  of  the  house 
stood  a  horse,  gaily  caparisoned,  and  prancing  with  im- 
patience. A  tall  and  graceful  youth,  with  a  rifle  in  one 
hand  and  a  Hght  whip  in  the  other,  was  approaching  the 
horse,  and  a  little  negro,  bearing  a  belt  filled  with  car- 


IN   THE  EXILE- WORLD.  211 

tridges,  ran  after  him.  It  was  morning,  and  the  old  man, 
Arch  Sixkiller,  was  driving  a  herd  of  cows  afield.  A 
gaunt  woman,  with  coal-black  hair  and  eyes,  stood  near 
the  horse,  throwing  crumbs  to  a  timorous  flock  of  newly- 
fledged  chickens.  Seated  in  the  shade  of  the  wall  of  a  log 
granary  two  stalwart  men  were  skinning  a  deer  which  had 
been  killed  the  night  before.  It  was  the  vision  of  his 
home  in  the  Nation  that  Pleasant  saw,  and  he  groaned 
aloud  as  he  thought  that  the  hated  white  man  might,  in  a 
few  short  months,  invade  the  peaceful  valley,  parcel  out 
the  lands  which  the  Indians  now  held  in  common,  and 
begin  anew  the  old  crowding  process  which  had  proved  so 
deadly  to  the  Indians. 

"  Can  nothing  stop  them?  "  he  said  aloud,  for  he  was 
utterly  absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of  the  injustice  done 
his  race.  "  The  years  go  round  and  bring  only  new  en- 
croachments, new  exactions.  Society  will  do  nothing  for 
us  ;  it  spurns  us,  laughs  at  us,  derides  us  in  cheap  para- 
graphs in  its  silly  newspapers  !  God  of  Justice  !  is  there 
no  way  to  bring  this  hard-hearted  society  to  its  senses ; 
no  way  to  take  it  by  the  throat  and  say,  '  Before  you  go 
another  step  you  shall  render  us  Justice  !  We  will  not  lie 
down  and  be  crushed ;  nor  will  we  be  pushed  into  the 
Pacific  Ocean  !  '  Is  there  no  way,  no  sudden  shock,  no 
sharp  and  certain  means  of  getting  attention?  " 

He  bit  his  lips,  and,  pausing  in  his  walk,  leaned  against 
a  stone  wall,  and -looked  out  over  the  gleaming  surface 
of  the  lake.  He  had  thought  that  he  was  getting  away 
from  Bakounin's  theory ;  but  now  he  found  that  he  was 
coming  slowly  back  to  it.  Was  Vera's  plan,  horrible  as  it 
was,  the  right  one  after  all?  Had  the  sombre  and  satur- 
nine Bakoimin  hit  upon  the  truth?  Must  man  trust  to 
himself  rather  than  to  God?  Must  he  take  vengeance 
into  his  own  hands?  Could  he  do  it?  Was  it  within  the 
scope  of  possibility  ?  Pleasant  thought  not ;  yet  he  was 


212  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

compelled  to  avow  that  whenever  he  meditated  on  tho 
means  of  redressing  the  injustices  which  had  been  practised 
upon  his  race  for  many  generations,  he  could  see  no  other 
than  violent  means  as  clearly  practicable.  And  how  — 
even  were  it,  under  the  exceptional  circumstances,  allow- 
able —  could  the  theory  of  Bakounin  be  applied  in  a  free 
country  like  America? 

He  slept  none  that  night.  The  demon  of  doubt  was 
with  him  and  was  all-powerful.  The  gentle  vision  of 
Alice  was  vanished,  and  it  was  not  love,  but  hate,  that 
reigned  in  Pleasant' s  heart. 

O  happj7  nations,  moving  resistlessly  forward  in  the 
paths  which  }'ou  fancy  chosen  for  you  by  the  Supreme 
Power,  and  crushing  now  and  then  feebler  peoples  that 
stand  in  your  way,  well  is  it  for  your  peace  that  you  do 
not  realize  the  hatred  and  burning  desire  for  vengeance 
that  your  insolent  progress  arouses  in  the  minds  of  the 
oppressed  and  vanquished  !  Well  is  it  for  your  tranquillity 
that  you  do  not  know  of  the  justice  that  shall  one  day 
bid  you  render  account  of  the  blood  of  the  innocents  whom 
you  have  slain,  of  the  wars  that  you  have  provoked,  and 
of  the  hopes  that  you  have  ruined  !  Justice  is  omnipotent, 
and  will  prevail ;  let  great  and  ambitious  nations  remember 
this,  and  tremble  when  they  are  about  to  do  wrong ! 

The  result  of  Pleasant's  relapse  into  doubt  was  a 
determination  to  see  more  of  Vera,  and  to  prolong  his 
stay  in  Geneva.  His  spirit  was  so  shaken  that  he  could 
do  no  work.  He  neglected  his  correspondence  with  the 
agents  of  his  people  in  Washington,  and  sat  in  his  room, 
irresolute  and  desperately  unhappy. 

In  the  afternoon  a  little  girl  brought  him  a  note  from 
Vera.  lie  turned  the  daintily  scented  document  over 
twice  before  he  consented  to  open  it.  Had  she  written 
to  accept  his  offer  of  sen-ice?  Was  it  his  fate  that  he 
should  become  part  and  parcel  of  a  Nihilist  conspiracy  — 


IN  THE  EXILE-WORLD.  213 

that  he  should  wear  the  collar  of  Bakounin?  The  girl 
inquired  if  there  were  any  answer,  so  Pleasant  tore  open 
the  envelope,  and  read  — 

"  Mademoiselle  Vera  presents  her  compliments  to  Mon- 
sieur Merrinott,  and  begs  to  inform  him  that  she  has 
obtained  for  him  an  invitation  for  this  evening  to  a 
'  reunion  '  in  the  exile  world,  which  she  thinks  may  prove 
vastly  entertaining.  Most  of  those  present  will  be  exiled 
Communists  —  impracticable  people  whom  may  Heaven 
forgive  —  but  there  will  be  a  few  Russians.  Pray  come, 
and  have  no  fear  that  anything  very  extraordinary  will  be 
said  or  done  openly,  as  the  agents  of  the  present  Govern- 
ments hi  Paris  and  St.  Petersburg  will  be  among  the 
guests.  Allans!  my  friend,  amuse  yourself  for  an  idle 
hour  by  contemplating  the  European  revolution  in  epit- 
ome. May  I  expect  you?  " 

The  address  of  an  obscure  street  in  the  old  quarter  of 
Geneva  was  written  faintly  in  pencil  below,  and  the  young 
Indian  concluded  that  it  indicated  the  place  of  meeting. 

The  small  girl  carried  back  an  affirmative  answer,  and 
at  the  appointed  hour  that  evening  Pleasant  found  himself 
in  a  large,  old-fashioned  hall,  over  a  cafe,  in  a  small  dark 
street  at  some  distance  from  the  rushing  river.  At  the 
end  of  the  hall  opposite  the  entrance  was  a  platform,  and 
a  desk  draped  with  a  blood-red  flag.  A  piano  stood  in  a 
corner.  The  windows  of  the  room  were  open,  as  the 
evening  was  very  warm,  and  there  was  no  appearance  of 
secrecy  or  alarm.  The  Cherokee  was  scowled  at  by  two 
or  three  young  gentlemen  with  bushy  black  hair  and 
exceedingly  white  faces,  who  appeared  to  consider  him 
an  interloper,  but  he  returned  the  scowls  with  so  much 
interest  that  they  were  visibly  disconcerted.  Presently 
Vera  arrived,  with  two  other  young  ladies,  both  of  whom 
were  very  pretty.  They  wore  their  hair  cut  short,  and 
brushed  back  in  masculine  fashion  from  their  foreheads, 


214  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

and  their  manner  was  a  trifle  aggressive,  but  Pleasant 
found  them  agreeable.  Vera  introduced  them  as  her 
compatriots  and  fellow-students.  Next  arrived  several 
subdued-looking  French  women  —  as  plain  as  the  Russians 
were  pretty,  and  bearing  marks  upon  their  faces  of  priva- 
tion and  toil.  The)7  did  not  appear  to  relish  the  presence 
of  the  Russians,  and  looked  askance  at  them.  By-and-by 
a  tall,  weather-beaten,  soldierly  old  man,  comfortably 
dressed,  came  in,  and  was  rapturously  saluted  by  the 
French  women. 

"That  is  a  Communist,"  said  Vera,  "  who  managed  to 
escape  from  the  May  massacres  in  1871,  and  who  has 
established  a  comfortable  business  here  in  Geneva.  He 
sells  boots  and  shoes  to  the  rich,  and  gives  them  away  to 
the  poor.  He  has  one  peculiarity,  which  is  not  dangerous, 
but  which  naturally  makes  him  a  marked  man.  He  has 
sworn  never  to  wear  hat  or  cap  until  the  Commune  is 
re-established,  and  ever  since  he  came  into  exile  he  has 
kept  his  word." 

"  He  reverences  his  own  ideas  so  much  that  he  is  per- 
petually standing  uncovered  before  them,"  said  one  of 
Vera's  companions.  "  How  very  French  !  " 

The  hatless  boot  and  shoe  seller  was  an  important  per- 
sonage in  the  meeting,  and  took  a  seat  on  the  platform. 
And  now  pale  and  nervous  men  dropped  in,  one  after 
another,  in  the  apologetic  French  way,  making  a  great 
many  bows  and  greeting  the  same  people  over  and  over 
again.  There  were  men  with  glossy  coats  and  new  hats, 
and  men  with  greasy  coats  and  old  hats ;  men  with  rough 
manners  and  toil-stained  hands,  and  men  abounding  in 
grace  and  the  elegance  of  the  boulevard.  Pleasant  was 
disappointed  ;  he  had  expected  to  see  something  tumultuous 
and  terror-stricken  by  turns  —  something,  perhaps,  a  little 
like  a  meeting  of  masked  conspirators  under  the  arch  of 
an  Italian  bridge.  But  this  was  as  unromantic  as  a 


IN  THE  EXILE-WOULD.  215 

lecture  in  the  Southern  town  where  he  had  received  his 
education. 

Vera  introduced  him  to  a  middle-aged  Russian  with 
a  speckled  beard,  a  red  nose,  and  a  pair  of  inflamed 
eyes  which  peeped  out  suspiciously  from  behind  cheap 
spectacles  ;  and  this  worthy,  who  was  really  a  disciple  of 
Bakounin,  but  who  passed,  in  Geneva,  a  seemingly  un- 
eventful existence  as  a  heavy  literary  man,  pointed  out 
successively  a  j>erson  who  had  been  a  general  under 
the  Commune,  and  who  had  been  obliged  to  run  away 
from  his  own  soldiers ;  a  second  person,  who,  being 
criminated  in  the  firing  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  had  spent 
six  weeks  of  agonized  suspense  in  the  bedroom  of  an  old 
school  friend,  in  the  centre  of  Paris,  who  aided  him 
finally  to  escape  in  disguise  across  the  frontier ;  a  third, 
who  had  been  left  for  dead  among  the  slain  at  the 
barricade  in  front  of  the  Porte  Saint  Martin,  and  had 
subsequently  found  his  way  to  Geneva  by  the  merest 
chance  ;  and  a  fourth,  who  had  spent  months  in  prison, 
had  narrowly  escaped  execution.,  had  been  discharged  at 
the  last  moment  for  lack  of  evidence,  and  yet  —  was  really 
one  of  the  leaders  of  the  great  revolt.  The  Russian  sneered 
at  all  the  French  Communists  whom  he  exhibited  to 
Pleasant,  and  for  this  Vera  reproached  him.  Pleasant 
asked  him  why  his  criticism  of  the  unlucky  Gauls  was  so 
harsh. 

"  Pooh  !  "  said  the  Russian  contemptuously,  in  his  lazily 
accented  English,  "  how  can  one  respect  people  who  laugh 
at  the  great  Hegel,  and  say  that  his  philosophy  is  obscure  ?  " 

"Hegel?  Hegel?"  said  Pleasant,  dimly  remembering 
the  name  as  that  of  a  promontory  at  which  he  had  touched 
during  his  rapid  circumnavigation  of  the  world  of  knowl- 
edge ;  "  will  you  kindly  inform  me  What  Hegel  has  to  do 
with  Communism  and  the  Communists?  " 

"Nothing,  sir;  nothing  at  all,"  replied  the  Russian. 


216  THE   GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

"  Why,  Monsieur,  they  do  not  even  know  that  the  great 
Hegel  wrote  the  'Algebra  of  Revolution.' ' 

As  Pleasant  had  also  been  densely  ignorant  of  this  fact 
until  that  particular  instant,  he  did  not  feel  inclined  to 
blame  the  Communists  with  much  severity.  The  Russian 
appeared  to  care  but  little  what  Pleasant's  opinions  were. 
But  he  was  anxious  to  air  his  own.  As  he  was  beginning 
an  impatient  tirade  in  an  undertone,  Vera  interrupted  him 
to  say  sharply  — 

"  You  are  such  a  cynic  that  I  am  afraid  you  will  give 
Mr.  Merrinott  a  very  poor  idea  of  our  cause.  Long  wait- 
ing has  somewhat  soured  your  temper.  I  fear  you  find 
nothing  to  your  taste." 

Pleasant  looked  inquiringly  from  one  Russian  to  the 
other. 

"  I  shall  not  attempt  to  conceal  from  our  friend,"  said 
the  cynic,  "  that  the  revolutionists  in  Geneva  do  not  agree 
among  themselves,  and  that  I  often  despair  of  seeing  any 
good  come  out  of  their  efforts,  because  they  are  so  divided. 
We  must  all  get  back  to  Hegel,  sir,  back  to  Hegel ;  there 
is  no  safety  elsewhere." 

"  You  must  tell  me  about  Hegel,"  stammered  Pleasant, 
who  was  more  in  the  dark  than  ever. 

li  Yes,  the  Socialists  are  too  much  divided,"  continued 
the  Russian,  evidently  against  Vera's  wish.  "  I  have  had 
an  excellent  chance  to  study  them,  for  I  have  now  been 
some  years  in  exile.  I  have  discovered  that  the  English 
Socialist  is  practical,  utilitarian  to  a  degree  ;  he  is  looking 
for  diminution  of  the  number  of  hours  of  labour  and  an 
increase  of  wages,  and  that  is  about  all.  The  French 
Socialists  —  pah  !  We  have  seen  those  peacocks  at  work 
in  the  Commune  time  ;  "  and  he  waved  his  hand  scornfully 
in  the  direction  of  the  group  of  French  exiles.  "Their 
idea  is  to  be  puffed  up  with  importance;  to  wear  uniforms 
covered  with  gold  and  silver  lace  ;  to  give  orders,  dis- 


IN  THE  EXILE-WORLD.  217 

tribute  patronage,  drink  champagne  to  the  health  of  '  le 
peuple,'  and  to  caper  around  in  pools  of  blood;  that  is 
what  they  understand  by  revolution.  Then  the  Germans 
—  we  have  a  few  of  them,  and  that  few  is  too  many  — 
among  us.  The  moment  that  they  try  to  practise  revolu- 
tionary Socialism  they  give  themselves  heavy  and  pedantic 
airs ;  they  pop  into  spectacles  and  write  voluminous 
treatises  ;  they  are  logicians,  although  they  are  not  logical ; 
they  are  infatuated  with  the  absolute  idea  of  Hegel,  but 
they  do  not  begin  to  comprehend  it.  As  for  the  Slav  — 
the  Russian  —  as  for  ourselves " 

u  Ah  !  "  said  Vera,  her  eyes  flashing  and  the  old  sinister 
look  settling  over  her  face,  "I  know  what  you  are  going 
to  tell  Mr.  Merrinott  about  us.  I  have  heard  you  say  it 
often  enough.  You  intend  to  tell  him,  that,  in  the 
Russian  mind,  the  '  Idea  '  of  Hegel  develops  a  monstrous 
Utopia.  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  why  you  call  it  Utopia." 

"  That  is  when  my  despair  takes  possession  of  me, 
Sister  Vera,"  said  the  Russian,  beginning  to  cringe  before 
the  enthusiastic  girl. 

"  It  is  no  Utopia,"  continued  Vera,  in  a  fierce  whisper, 
which  impressed  Pleasant  more  powerfully  than  the  most 
resonant  shouting  could  have  done.  "I  grant  you  that 
the  Slav,  when  he  welcomes  Socialistic  doctrines,  is 
plunged  into  a  dream  in  which  he  sees  a  mighty  vision  of 
the  universal  overturning  ;  of  creation  cracking  and  falling 
to  pieces  ;  of  flames  penetrating  the  heart  of  worm-eaten 
civilization,  and  reducing  it  to  ashes  ;  that  he  takes  delight 
in  the  thought  of  chaos  and  extermination  ;  for  he  knows 
that  beyond  them  is  the  golden  age,  and  that  the  regenera- 
tion cannot  come  until  after  the  cataclysm  for  which  he 
earnestly  hopes.  But  I  would  not  insult  him  by  telling 
him  that  he  is  a  Utopian." 

"Ah,  well,  we  must  get  back  to  Hegel — back  to 
Hegel,"  said  the  Russian,  looking  rather  condescendingly 


218  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

at  Vera,  whose  cheeks  were  flushed,  and  whose  eyes 
sparkled  like  diamonds.  "  Our  younger  brethren  consider 
it  proper  to  decry  Hegel,  and  to  say  that  he  is  old- 
fashioned,  forgetting  that  the  whole  system  for  social 
renovation  was  drawn  from  his  philosophy  — 

"  I  should  like  .to  understand  this  better,"  said  Pleasant 
eagerly. 

"  Forgetting  that  he  is  the  father  of  the  '  Idea.'  Our 
3roung  collegians  and  the  silly  youthful  workmen  who  get 
locked  up  for  conspiracy  in  Russia  have  been  stuffing 
their  heads  with  natural  science,  whereas  they  should 
have  been  feeding  upon  the  Hegelian  philosophy." 

"  Let  us  sit  down.  The  exercises  are  about  to  begin," 
said  Vera. 

From  a  corner  Pleasant  heard  a  smooth-faced  orator 
talk  very  glibly  in  French  for  twenty  miuutes,  at  the  end 
of  which  time  a  pale  young  lady  seated  herself  at  the 
piauo  and  struck  up  the  Marseillaise,  which  many  of  the 
company  joined  with  the  hatless  boot  and  shoe  dealer  in 
singing.  The  music  revived  the  youth  ;  he  was  beginning 
to  languish  in  the  overheated  atmosphere  of  the  Hegelian 
philosophy.  There  was  a  rough  menace,  a  strong  con- 
tempt for  authority,  in  this  Marseillaise,  which  was 
gratifying.  After  the  singing,  a  woman,  poorl}'  clad  and 
physically  weak,  arose,  and  leaning  against  the  small 
table  covered  with  the  blood-red  flag,  poured  forth  a 
passionate  invective  aimed  at  the  moderate  Republicans 
in  power  in  France,  and  made  ample  threats  of  vengeance 
when  the  good  time  should  come. 

"  They  will  give  us  amnesty,  brethren,"  she  cried,  "  but 
we  must  riot  allow  it  to  weaken  our  energies  —  we  must 
not  sink  into  slothfulness.  Let  us  not  forget  the  dead 
who  arc  to  be  avenged." 

She  then  read  a  fiery  poem  —  not  devoid  of  talent  — 
upon  the  "Religion  of  Humanity."  Certain  sentiments 


IN  THE  EXILE-WORLD.  219 

expressed  in  her  verse  provoked  a  discussion  between  the 
French  and  German  Socialists.  The  Gaul  talked  in  his 
language  ;  the  Teuton  in  his ;  satire  flew,  irony  fell  in 
showers  ;  repartee  sparkled  ;  the  partisans  of  each  faction 
applauded ;  and  the  women  looked  on  rapturously,  their 
hands  folded,  their  mouths  open,  and  comprehending  but 
little.  An  hour  passed  thus,  and  Pleasant  found  the  heat 
and  the  jargon  quite  intolerable. 

"I  think  you  must  excuse  me,"  he  whispered  to  his 
companions.  "  My  head  is  turning  round." 

"We  will  accompany  you  to  the  balcony,"  said  Vera, 
beckoning  to  the  young  ladies  seated  near  her. 

They  went  out  by  a  side  door  to  a  rustic  porch  over- 
looking a  court-yard,  and  sat  down  on  a  bench. 

"I  reckon  they  are  not  accomplishing  anything  very 
practical  in  there  this  evening,"  remarked  the  Indian. 

"Pooh!  they  are  children!"  said  Vera's  friend. 
"  Why,  Monsieur,  as  I  have  already  told  you,  they  laugh 
at  the  great  Hegel." 

Pleasant  was  silent  for  some  minutes,  and  the  Nihilists 
did  not  seem  inclined  for  conversation.  At  last,  however, 
Vera  said  — 

"  I  know  what  you  are  musing  over,  Mr.  Merrinott. 
You  are  wondering  how  the  philosophy  of  Hegel  can  be  of 
use  to  your  oppressed  and  threatened  Indian  brethren.  Is 
it  not  so  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  thinking  at  all.  My  mind  is  as  blank  as 
a  piece  of  white  paper  freshly  made.  I  have  lost  all  my 
old  beliefs,  if  I  ever  had  any,  and  none  have  yet  come  to 
replace  them,"  answered  Pleasant  mournfully. 

"  Then  there  never  was  a  better  moment  in  which  to 
tell  you  more  about  Bakounin,"  said  the  girl  joyously. 

Pleasant  listened ;  and  as  he  listened  he  felt  his  old 
repugnance  to  the  name  of  the  destroyer  and  to  his 
mystical  doctrine  entirely  vanishing. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE   APOSTLE   OF   MAN*S   WILL. 

THE  spectacled  cynic  began  a  brilliant  strain  of  narration, 
but  a  new  idea  seemed  suddenly  to  occur  to  him.  His 
eyes  twinkled  behind  his  glasses,  and  he  arose,  saying  — 

"  My  children,  the  night  is  very  fine,  and  -the  atmos- 
phere in  this  court-yard  is  unpleasant.  As  we  are  to 
have  a  long  and  important  interview  —  I  foresee  it  —  let 
us  go  out  into  the  fields." 

The  young  ladies  seconded  this  proposition,  and  half  an 
hour  afterwards  the  party  found  itself  on  the  brow  of  a 
broad  hill  on  the  shore  of  the  lake  opposite  Geneva, 
whither  a  wheezy  horse,  attached  to  a  rickety  public 
carriage,  had  drawn  them.  Vera  and  her  companions  had 
chatted  gaily  in  Russian,  English,  and  French  alternately, 
to  beguile  the  way.  As  for  Pleasant,  he  would  have  gone 
with  them  to  the  Siberian  wilderness  had  they  asked  him 
to  do  so.  lie  no  longer  had  a  will  of  his  own  ;  he  followed 
them  blindly,  regardless  of  consequences. 

The  cynic  led  the  way  into  the  garden  of  a  small  inn 
on  the  hill-top,  and  there  Vera  and  the  girls  seated  them- 
selves at  a  cosy  table.  The  Russian  bade  Pleasant  imitate 
their  example,  and  culling  the  servant,  ordered  some  flasks 
of  wine.  Then  he  took  from  his  pocket  a  huge  leathern 
case  which  exhaled  a  strange  Oriental  aroma,  and  opening 

220 


THE   APOSTLE   OF  MAN'S   WILL.  221 

it,  showered  down  a  score  or  two  of  cigarettes  upon  the 
table.  The  Nihilist  girls  each  took  one,  and  lighting  the 
fragrant  rolls  at  the  lamp  which  the  servant  brought,  began 
gracefully  and  dreamily  smoking,  and  watching  the  per- 
fumed smoke  as  it  drifted  upward  in  little  clouds.  Pleasant 
wondered  if  they  were  contemplating  in  these  smoke  wreaths 
the  apocalyptic  vision  of  the  crumbling  back  of  society 
into  the  chaotic  ruins  of  which  he  had  lately  heard  so  much. 

"  Here  is  wine  for  those  who  wish  it,"  said  the  cynic, 
pouring  himself  a  generous  draught,  and  pushing  the 
bottle  and  glasses  toward  his  companions.  Then  he  sat 
down,  and  began  to  talk  in  a  monotonous,  sing-song  tone. 

And  while  Pleasant  listened  he  looked  out  over  the  vine- 
laden  terraces,  and  at  the  broad  leaves  on  which  the 
moonbeams  made  merry,  and  at  the  tranquil  silvered 
expanse  of  the  lake  far  below.  He  was  conscious  that 
Vera  narrowly  observed  him. 

"I  will  venture  to  say,"  remarked  the  cynic,  bringing 
his  hand  heavily  down  on  the  table  and  making  the  glasses 
jingle,  "that  these  young  ladies  — Miss  Vera  of  course 
excepted  —  know  as  little,  Monsieur,  of  Hegel  and  his 
relations  to  Bakounin  as  you  do.  And  they  need  more 
blame  than  they  get  for  this  negligence.  For  how  "  —  he 
looked  uneasily  around  him  —  "  can  they  conspire  unless 
they  know  exactly  to  what  end  they  are  conspiring.  There 
are  too  many  blind  workers  in  our  ranks." 

Vera  gave  her  assent  heartily  to  this,  and  the  short- 
haired,  blue-eyed  young  women  looked  a  trifle  confused. 

"We  have  said  a  good  bit  about  Hegel  this  evening. 
It  happens  to  have  been  Hegel  who  gave  the  main 
impulse  to  the  mind  of  Michael  Bakounin.  And  who  was 
this  Bakounin?  He  was  a  gentleman,  as  nearly  all  the 
chiefs  of  Russian  radicalism  have  been.  He  was  born  in 
1814,  and  received  a  capital  education  from  native  and 
French  professors.  Then  he  was  placed  in  the  Artillery 


222  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

School  in  St.  Petersburg,  and,  oddly  enough,  his  short  stay 
there  developed  the  germ  already  planted  in  his  spirit  and 
destined  to  burst  forth  into  full  flower  under  Hegelian 
influence,  Alexander  the  First  of  Russia  had  given  many 
dazzling  promises  of  liberal  reform  in  the  early  part  of  his 
reign,  but  these  were  not  fulfilled  in  the  Emperor's  closing 
years,  and  shortly  after  his  death  came  the  famous  revolt 
of  certain  regiments  of  the  guard  against  the  Absolutist 
Government. 

"It  is  not  necessary  to  dwell  on  the  manner  in  which 
that  revolt  was  put  down.  It  was  stamped  out  with  all 
the  implacable  rigour  which  has  become  historical ;  and 
as  a  violent  reaction  against  Liberalism  had  set  in 
throughout  the  Empire,  the  military  schools,  out  of  which 
the  revolt  had  come,  were  placed  under  an  especially 
unbending  discipline.  The  youths  in  the  schools  were 
constrained  to  absolute  outward  respect  of  the  forms 
against  which  the  whole  liberal  part  of  the  nation  had  once 
hoped  to  rebel,  but  in  their  hearts  they  cherished  secret 
contempt  for  the  established  order  of  things ;  their  mental 
negation  of  existing  institutions  was  complete.  They 
adored  the  insurrectionists  of  December  in  secret ;  and 
when  Michael  Bakounin  was  in  the  Artillery  School  he 
heard  constantly  whispered  on  every  side  the  names  and 
the  poetic  and  legendary  history  of  those  who  had  swung 
upon  the  gallows,  or  been  exiled  to  the  snows  of  the  North, 
because  they  had  revolted  for  liberty. 

"  The  severe  repression  of  all  the  generous  and  ardent 
ideas  of  these  young  minds  seems  to  have  filled  Bakounin 
with  a  mortal  sorrow.  He  lost  all  interest  in  the  brilliant 
career  before  him,  and  at  the  time  when  he  might  have 
entered  the  Artillery  of  the  Guard  of  the  capital,  and 
become  a  person  of  rank  and  consequence,  he  was  so  list- 
less and  inactive  that  he  was  sent  away  to  pass  the  best 
years  of  his  youth  in  an  obscure  garrison  town  in  a  corner 


THE  APOSTLE  OF  MAN'S   WILL.  223 

of  the  Empire.  There  he  spent  his  days  in  dreaming  of 
the  future,  and  the  army  authorities  were  so  displeased 
with  him  that  they  asked  him  to  resign  if  he  could  not 
reform.  Bakounin  smiled,  resigned,  and  went  to  live  in 
Moscow.  He  was  then  two-and-twenty  years  old.  Do  the 
young  ladies  follow  me?  I  speak  the  English,  because  of 
our  young  American  friend." 

"Perfectly,"  said  the  young  ladies  in  chorus,  twirling 
their  cigarettes. 

"  It  was  in  Moscow,  where  society  —  and  the  police  for 
that  matter  —  were  reasonably  tolerant  under  the  reign  of 
Nicholas,  that  Bakouuin  began  to  be  familiar  with  Hegel's 
philosophy.  Hegel  was  the  rage  in  those  days  —  toward 
1836  —  in  Moscow.  There  was  a  rich  man  named  Stanke- 
wics  who  had  learned  the  German  philosophy  by  heart, 
and  taught  it  to  his  friends.  The  disciples  were  very 
zealous  ;  they  worked  upon  Hegel  night  and  day ;  they 
discussed  paragraph  after  paragraph  of  his  treatises  for 
hours,  for  weeks.  The  copies  of  the  works  passed  from 
hand  to  hand  until  they  were  almost  worn  out,  quite 
covered  with  notes,  illegible.  It  was  not  at  all  uncommon 
to  see  intimate  friends  no  longer  on  speaking  terms 
because  they  could  not  agree  upon  the  essence  of  the 
absolute  spirit." 

Pleasant  smiled.  But  he  felt  that  Vera's  eyes  were 
fixed  reproachfully  upon  him. 

' '  Michael  Bakounin  was  soon  recognized  as  the  master- 
spirit of  this  Hegelian  circle  at  Moscow.  Stankcwics 
bowed  before  him,  and  gave  high  praise  to  his  speculative 
faculties  ;  and  in  course  of  time  Bakounin's  reputation 
was  so  great  that  it  spread  beyond  Russian  boundaries. 
He  left  Moscow  and  went  to  Berlin  in  search  of  more 
light. 

"  Europe  has  forgotten  what  a  tremendous  enthusiasm 
there  was  over  Hegel's  monotonous  and  enigmatical  style 


224  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

ten  years  after  the  author's  death.  The  enemies  of  our 
philosophy  say  that  one  of  the  sources  of  Hegel's  popu- 
larity was  that  every  one  could  find  in  the  vagueness 
and  obscurity  of  his  writings  whatever  he  or  she  pleased. 
But  this  was  untrue.  If  Hegel  is  as  difficult  to  decipher 
as  a  cuneiform  inscription,  it  is  also  certain  that  his  text 
has  but  one  meaning,  no  matter  how  many  imaginative  and 
presumptuous  people  may  have  given  it.  Bakounin  and 
the  revolutionary  school  of  the  period  found  the  right 
and  only  meaning.  They  deciphered  the  '  Algebra  of 
Revolution.'  Out  of  the  dry  phrases,  the  seemingly  mean- 
ingless sentences  which  the  sublime  old  man  had  left 
behind  him,  they  got  the  promise  of  a  future,  glorious  and 
imposing,  but  of  necessity  lying  beyond  the  destruction  of 
the  actual  order  of  things.  I  tell  you,  Monsieur,  I  tell  you 
ladies,"  cried  the  Russian,  waxing  enthusiastic,  and 
smiting  the  table,  "  when  at  last  they  had  mastered  Hegel, 
and  they  looked  up  from  his  books,  they  saw  a  grandiose 
vision  of  a  blackened  and  empty  heaven  —  the  traditions  of 
the  Christian  era  in  shapeless  ruins,  Deity  dethroned,  and, 
seated  upon  the  throne  of  the  universe,  that  noble  and 
triumphant  young  queen  —  the  Absolute  Idea  !  Long  had 
she  slept  in  the  bosom  of  Nature,  like  the  beauty  in  the 
forest  in  the  fairy  tale,  but  now  she  had  awakened  in  per- 
fection and  splendour,  and  wooed  to  her,  as  her  spouse, 
man,  henceforth  to  be  king,  henceforth  to  be  the  only 
living  and  legitimate  Deity  —  the  divine  biped,  always 
growing  more  and  more  divine,  less  and  less  human ! 
These  passionate  students  of  Hegel  believed  that  every- 
thing else  had  failed  except  man's  will,  and  that,  when 
that  was  exercised,  regeneration  would  come.  They  denied 
all  else  ;  and  when  they  reduced  their  belief  to  a  formula 
they  found  (lint  instead  of  '  Let  God's  will  be  done  ! '  they 
were  henceforth  to  say,  '  Let  man's  will  be  done  ! ' 

Pleasant  bowed  his  head  and  said  nothing.     The  girls 


THE   APOSTLE  OF  MAN'S   WILL.  225 

smoked  on,  and  the  miniature  clouds  of  perfumed  smolce 
drifted  up  like  incense  burned  before  an  altar  erected  to 
the  profane  and  audacious  Bakounin. 

"  Doubtless  there  was  a  certain  amount  of  intoxication 
in  this  new  belief  that  man's  will  was  infinite,  that  man 
was  no  longer  the  creature  of  the  circumstances  in  which 
he  had  been  placed,  but  that  he  could  remould,  refashion, 
rebuild  the  world  —  the  universe.  '  First! '  said  Michael 
Bakounin,  '  let  us  sweep  away  the  old  rubbish  ;  let  us  upset 
the  ancient  world  utterly ;  let  us  precipitate  society  into 
chaos  and  bring  it  out  anew ;  let  us  form  a  terrestrial 
paradise  in  which  there  shall  be  no  sin  and  from  which 
there  shall  be  no  fall ;  let  us  build  a  world  in  which  every 
one  shall  have  a  place  in  the  sunshine,  bread  to  .eat,  and 
wine  to  drink  !  '  He  instilled  into  his  disciples  the  theory 
that  they  must  joy  in  destruction  because  it  was  the  neces- 
sary prelude  to  the  joy  of  rebuilding.  And  although  the 
Nihilists  of  this  generation  have  moved  away  from  Hege- 
lianism,  they  are  still  guided  by  that  theorj*  of  Bakounin. 

"  There  are  some  of  them  in  Russia  who  profess  to 
follow  the  master's  banner,  but  who  have  written  the  word 
Constitution  upon  it.  They  do  no  harm ;  they  are  all  la- 
bouring for  the  primary  period  of  destruction  which  must 
come.  The  mass  of  Bakounin 's  disciples  are  resolved  to 
deny  everything  that  exists  in  the  order  of  traditional 
ideas,  to  annihilate  the  present  social  fabric,  and  on  the 
ruins  to  found  the  hope  of  a  better  world  —  a  new  world  ! 
Do  not  fancy  that  Russian  Nihilism  is  a  mere  aspiration 
toward  annihilation,  for  the  sake  of  entering  upon  obliv- 
ion. We  are  not  so  East  Indian  as  that.  No  !  We  hope 
that  man  will  remain  erect  and  mighty  upon  the  ruins, 
and  will  know  how  to  found  an  honest,  a  sensible,  a  just 
society.  The  safety  of  individuals  and  nations  can  be 
accomplished  only  by  a  simple  and  rapid  method  of  cleans- 
ing that  cave  of  iniquity  called  '  society  '  to-day.  If  we 


226  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

are  more  radical  than  contemporary  socialists  of  other 
countries,  it  is  because  our  aim  is  grander  and  our  deter- 
mination more  complete." 

The  speaker  had  finished  his  first  flask  of  red  wine. 
He  rolled  the  bottle  carelessly  under  the  table,  opened  a 
fresh  flask,  absorbed  a  mighty  draught,  blinked  at  Pleasant, 
smiled  complacently  on  the  ladies,  and  resumed  his  sing- 
song address.  He  had  been  used,  during  his  residence  in 
London,  to  lecture  to  working-men's  assemblies,  and  had 
acquired  a  precise  and  explicit  habit  of  delivery  which 
served  the  purpose  well  on  this  occasion. 

"  Michael  Bakounin  did  not  content  himself  with 
dreaming  and  theorizing.  Hegel  had  told  him  of  the 
right  of  force,,  and  he  was  not  long  in  marrying  his  philos- 
ophy to  a  militant  policy.  He  went  up  to  Paris  in  1843, 
when  the  socialistic  effervescence  was  beginning.  He  had 
conceived  a  vast  plan  of  shattering  social  edifice  after 
social  edifice.  He  was  like  a  man  placing  charge  after 
charge  of  dynamite  beneath  crag  after  crag,  in  the  hope 
of  reducing  a  whole  line  of  cliffs  to  shapeless  ruin.  He 
laboured  to  undermine  monarchy  in  Russia ;  he  tried  to 
raise  the  standard  of  revolt  in  Bohemia ;  and  in  Dresden, 
in  1849,  he  was  putting  his  principled  into  practice  by 
urging,  during  the  insurrection,  the  burning  of  the  public 
buildings  and  the  blowing  up  of  the  houses  of  certain 
dignitaries.  The  riots  were  suppressed  ;  he  was  arrested 
and  condemned  to  death ;  his  sentence  was  commuted 
.to  imprisonment  for  life.  He  was  at  last  handed  over  to 
:the  Russian  authorities,  and  sent  to  Siberia.  He  escaped, 
after  ten  years  of  almost  incredible  sufferings  there.  He 
managed  to  get  to  London,  and  it  was  there  that  I  first 
saw  and  knew  him.  I  suppose  you  have  read  his  history 
since  that  time?  " 

Pleasant  confessed  that  he  had  not. 

"Indeed!     It  ia  a  part   of   the   history   of   the   time, 


THE   APOSTLE  OF  MAN'S   WILL.  227 

which  will  not  be  forgotten  until  the  new  order  of  things 
has  rendered  a  history  of  the  old  order  useless.  Michael 
Bakounin  was  in  all  revolutionary  movements  in  England, 
in  the  Congresses  in  Switzerland  and  Holland,  everywhere 
preaching  to  men  that  as  everything  is  rotten,  everything, 
—  State,  Church,  Exchange,  banks,  police,  courts,  Acad- 
emies, Universities  —  must  be  blotted  out.  He  urged 
men  to  deliver  themselves  from  the  fear  of  the  Deity,  and 
from  their  infantile  respect  for  the  fiction  called  law. 
'  Let  your  own  happiness  be  your  supreme  law,'  he  said. 
He  founded  the  secret  society,  of  which  I  am  sure,  Mon- 
sieur, that  you  have  heard." 

Pleasant  nodded.  He  was  thinking  of  old  Ignatius 
and  the  "  clock  of  destiny." 

"  A  society,  the  members  of  which  are  solemnly  bound 
to  possess  no  other  country  than  that  of  the  universal 
revolution,  and  to  consider  as  reactionary  every  movement 
which  has  not  for  its  unique  and  direct  end  the  triumph 
of  their  principles." 

Vera's  face  was  pale,  and  the  stern  look  of  which 
Pleasant  was  almost  afraid  was  upon  it.  The  young 
Indian  remembered  that  he  had  seen  the  same  intense 
expression  upon  the  faces  of  mulatto  women  possessed  by 
hysterical  religious  excitement  at  meetings  in  the  Southern 
town  where  he  was  educated. 

"And  how  did  Bakounin  die,  and  where?"  asked 
Pleasant. 

"He  died  here  in  Switzerland,  but  a  few  years  ago. 
Some  say  that  he  died  of  a  broken  heart,  hut  I  do  not 
think  so.  He  went  on  planning  and  fighting  to  the  last, 
always  adhering  rigidly  to  his  doctrines.  The  instruments 
which  he  tried  to  use  for  the  inauguration  of  his  great 
revolution  were  all  too  feeble.  Extreme  as  society  con- 
siders most  of  the  French  and  Italian  and  German 
socialism,  it  is  moderation  compared  with  what  Bakouuin 


228  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

aimed  at.  The  master  fell  upon  evil  days  toward  the 
close  of  his  career.  He  was  unsuccessful  with  the  French 
Communists ;  his  movement  in  Southern  Spain  was  un- 
fortunate ;  Mazzini  excommunicated  him  in  the  name  of 
Spiritualism,  and  Karl  Marx  in  the  name  of  orthodox 
socialism.  Yet  he  hoped  to  the  very  last  that  the  great, 
general,  wide-sweeping  revolution  would  come,  and  over- 
whelm Europe  beneath  its  ruins.  He  died,  but  he  left 
behind  him  those  who  will  carry  out  his  plan.  His  fol- 
lowers are  no  longer  contented  to  confine  their  effort  to 
a  single  country  or  a  single  hemisphere  ;  their  field  is  the 
world." 

Again  Pleasant  felt  that  Vera's  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
him  with  baleful  force. 

"On  Russia,  for  the  moment,  the  efforts  of  the  party 
are  concentrated,  because  it  is  there  that  absolute  govern- 
ment has  rendered  the  plan  of  Bakounin  most  dangerous 
to  fulfil.  We  wish  to  grapple  with  our  worst  enemy 
first.  The  government  has  made  some  concessions  in  this 
generation,  in  the  direction  of  a  constitutional  regime; 
and  we  lend  our  aid  to  those  who  are  determined  to  have 
a  constitution  in  Russia,  because  we  feel  that  with  a  lib- 
eral Government  replacing  the  old  absolutism  our  progress 
toward  the  accomplishment  of  the  idea  of  Bakounin  will 
be  much  facilitated." 

"The  absolutism  in  Russia  must  and  shall  disappear," 
said  Vera.  "  We  have  sworn  it." 

"And  when  you  have  obtained  free  institutions,  a 
constitution,  local  liberties,  and  the  rest,  then  you  will 
proceed  with  your  work  of  tearing  down  the  present  social 
fabric  in  Russia,  and  building  the  terrestrial  paradise  in 
its  place?  " 

"Certainly,"  said  Vera.  "The  free  institutions  are 
but  the  stepping-stones  which  we  need  and  must  have." 

u  It  is  a  mighty  scheme,"  said  the  young  Indian,  draw- 


THE   APOSTLE   OF  MAN'S   WILL.  229 

ing  his  breath  hard.  "  Too  mighty,  too  ambitious,  I  fear, 
to  be  realized." 

"By  man's  will  it  can  be  done,"  said  the  Russian  cynic. 
"To  what  else  can  you  turn?  Where  else  can  you  find 
justice?  How  else,  except  by  convulsing  society  to  its 
centre,  can  you  bring  it  to  a  knowledge  of  its  guilt? 
No ;  the  world  must  be  purged,  and  we  must  begin 
again." 

"How  do  you  know,"  said  Vera,  folding  her  hands 
and  looking  sharply  at  Pleasant,  "that  the  principles  of 
Bakounin  are  not  applicable  in  America,  in  your  new  land 
with  its  old  society  ?  Have  you  thought  what  a  sublime 
vengeance  it  would  be  if  you  could  shock,  to  its  very 
foundations,  the  society  which  has  so  cruelly  persecuted 
and  maltreated  your  race  for  generations?  Why  can  it 
not  be  done?  Who  says  it  cannot?  Have  you  thought 
of  this?" 

Had  he  thought  of  it?  Had  it  not  been  lurking  in  his 
mind  like  a  shadow  for  days,  for  weeks,  for  months? 

"I  will  think  of  it,"  he  said.  "But  for  the  moment 
I  feel  as  if  it  would  be  a  relief  to  talk  of  something 
else.  This  idea  of  turning  over  society  is  a  mighty  lurid 
one." 

He  tried  to  laugh,  but  he  was  oppressed.  The  cynic 
came  to  his  aid  with  some  remarks  on  the  beauty  of  the 
evening,  and  an  apology  for  having  wearied  him  with  the 
history  of  the  great  revolutionist.  The  young  women 
engaged  Vera  and  her  spectacled  friend  in  a  discussion  as 
to  the  value  of  the  study  of  the  natural  sciences  ;  and  as 
the  wheezy  old  horse  drew  them  back  to  Geneva,  under 
the  bewitching  light  of  the  moon,  Pleasant  found  that  he 
was  receiving  much  instruction  as  to  the  difference  between 
old  and  new  Nihilism,  and  their  infinite  variations. 

He  bade  the  party  good  night  at  the  Pont  clu  Mont 
Blanc,  and  hastened  to  his  hotel.  The  porter  put  a 


230  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

telegram  into  his  hands,  and  he  went  up  to  his  room 
before  reading  it,  fancying  that  in  it  he  should  find  only 
fresh  cause  for  hatred  of  the  white  invaders  of  the 
country  in  which  his  poor  Cherokees  had  made  their  final 
stand. 

The  despatch  was  repeated  to  him  by  the  manager  of 
the  Bellevue  Hotel  at  Berne,  to  whose  care  it  was  addressed, 
and  contained  the  following  words  :  — 

"  Mr.  Pleasant  Merrinott  is  urgently  requested  to  come 
at  once  to  Paris  to  meet  Eric  Harrelston  at  his  office,  at 
the  bank,  on  important  and  immediate  business.  Prompt 
attention  is  solicited.  Please  answer.  — HARRELSTON." 

The  youth  allowed  the  telegram  to  slip  from  his  hands, 
and  it  fluttered  down  to  the  floor.  He  would  have  liked  to 
shout.  He  did  not  know  what  new  disclosures  lay  behind 
this  message,  but  he  believed  that  he  was  mysteriously 
called  once  more  toward  Alice.  For  an  instant  he  fancied 
that  he  could  see  her  standing  before  him,  as  she  stood  on 
the  .terrace  at  Berne,  when  she  was  gazing  at  the  Alpine 
fire  on  the  far-off,  snow-clad  peaks.  The  sombre  visions 
aroused  by  the  story  of  Bakounin  now  vanished,  as 
demons  might  flee  away  before  the  presence  of  an  angel. 
Hope  came  to  banish  despair  and  doubt.  He  went  to  the 
open  window  and  sat  down  where  the  moonlight  could  fall 
upon  his  face.  The  sweet  tranquillity  of  nature  comforted 
him.  In  the  vast  and  tender  embrace  of  night  he  felt  a 
rest,  a  protection,  which  were  delicious.  He  was  vaguely 
conscious  of  a  mighty  directing  power  guiding  all  his 
feeble  movements. 

"  I  feel,"  he  whispered  to  himself,  "as  if  I  had  been 
saved  out  of  the  pit.  That  despatch  has  done  it,  I  don't 
know  how.  I  am  glad  to  get  out  from  —  from  under  the 
shadow  of  Bakounin  !  " 

He  made  his  arrangements  to  take  the  morning  train 
for  Paris;  sent  an  answer  conceived  thus,  "Coming  at 


THE   APOSTLE   OF   MAN'S   WILL.  231 

once !  "  to  Mr.  Harrelston ;  and  mailed  a  brief  note  to 
Vera,  saying  that  he  was  summoned  suddenly  to  Paris, 
where  he  should  be  pleased  to  meet  her  again.  Then  he 
went  to  bed,  and  slept  soundly  for  the  first  time  for  ten 
days. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

ON  THE    HOUSE-TOP. 

THE  Paris  home  of  Caro  and  her  mother  was  in  a  small 
and  cosy  house  in  the  Rue  de  1' Orient,  high  on  that  steep 
and  picturesque  hill  which  the  Parisians  call  ' '  Mont- 
martre."  Some  say  that  it  is  called  so  because  there  stood 
upon  the  breezy  height  in  ancient  times  a  temple  to  the 
god  Mars.  Others  affirm  that  Montmartre  is  the  "  Mount 
of  Martyrs,"  and  that  St.  Denis  of  blessed  memory  was 
beheaded  there,  and  afterwards  astonished  his  execu- 
tioners by  taking  his  head  under  his  arm,v  and  walking 
off,  in  most  unconcerned  fashion,  across  the  plain,  in 
search  of  a  delectable  site  for  a  burial-place. 

The  streets  which  seam  the  sides  of  the  great  hill  are 
the  homes  of  thousands  of  literary  and  artistic  celebrities  ; 
the  tall  gray  houses,  which  iu  the  damp  and  dreary  Paris 
winter  seem  gloomy  and  forbidding,  are  filled  with  light, 
and  life,  and  poetry,  and  romance  within.  Artists, 
musicians,  actors,  writers,  flock  about  Montmartre's  ribs 
like  swallows  at  the  eaves  of  a  huge  country  barn.  The 
summit  is  a  bluff  which  has  proved  untameable  by  the 
aediles,  and  is  crowned  by  a  venerable  windmill,  in 
the  centre  of  a  pretty  garden,  owned  by  an  innkeeper, 
who  serves  dinners  and  wines  to  the  people  who  clamber 
up  to  his  domain  for  the  sake  of  seeing  all  Paris  lying 

23U 


ON  THE   HOUSE-TOP.  233 

at  their  feet.  In  the  long  summer  and  autumn  evenings 
music  and  fireworks  attract  to  this  bluff  hundreds  of 
couples  of  pale-faced,  overworked  artisans  and  seam- 
stresses, who  dance  to  the  inspiring  measures  of  the  fiddle 
and  the  horn,  and  drink  lemonade  and  raspberry  cordial 
in  the  moonlight,  while  the  old  windmill  solemnly  extends 
its  scraggy  arms  above  their  heads. 

The  garden  overlooks  the  neglected  upland  on  which 
were  parked  hundreds  of  cannon  at  the  close  of  the  siege 
of  1870-71.  At  sight  of  this  plot  of  ground,  with  its 
waving  grasses  and  weeds,  its  broken  fences  and  dust- 
heaps,  the  dreadful  phantasmagoria  of  the  Commune  seem 
once  more  to  spring  into  view ;  for  the  desire  of  the 
people  to  possess  the  cannon  stored  there  led  to  tragic 
and  bloody  events  on  the  historic  hill.  The  Rue  des 
Hosiers,  where  the  unhappy  generals  were  sacrificed  to 
the  fury  of  the  insurrection,  is  not  far  away  ;  and  if  the 
stones  could  speak,  what  tales  of  massacre  they  could  tell ! 

But  the  visitor  to  Moutmartre  on  a  bright,  sunlit 
September  afternoon,  would  think  it  one  of  the  most 
peaceful  and  attractive  spots  that  he  had  ever  visited. 
So  thought  Caro  and  her  mother  when  they  first  climbed 
thither,  escorted  by  two  clever  American  artists,  who 
had  long  inhabited  the  quarter ;  and  Mrs.  Merlin,  who 
abominated  the  "apartment  system"  so  universal  in 
France,  and  who  was  determined  to  rent  a  whole  house, 
straightway  fell  a  prey  to  the  fascinations  of  the  Rue  de 
1'Orient.  For  in  this  small  avenue,  not  far  below  the 
bluff,  she  found  a  tiny  garden,  and  at  its  back  a  diminutive 
two-story  dwelling,  from  a  balcony  niche  in  the  roof  of 
which  one  could  look  down  over  the  whole  vast  capital, 
extending  miles  away  on  either  side  of  the  Seine  —  a 
colossal  wilderness  of  roofs,  an  imposing  and  beautiful 
mass  of  infinitely  varied  architecture. 

The   upper   story   of   the   house  was   a  large   atelier^ 


234  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

through  which  had  passed  in  previous  years  a  shadowy 
procession  of  artists  of  all  nationalities  and  every  shade 
of  talent  and  success.  This  room  had  been  furnished  as 
Caro's  practice-chamber.  A  piano,  hoisted  up  the  narrow 
and  inconvenient  staircase  by  a  series  of  ingenious  me- 
chanical devices  originated  by  Mrs.  Merlin  herself,  after  a 
dozen  French  mechanics  had  declared  the  operation  im- 
possible, stood  in  the  centre  ;  and  floods  of  sunshine  came 
through  the  northern  window  to  light  up  the  inexpen- 
sive draperies  on  the  walls,  the  flowers  from  the  garden, 
the  music-stand,  and  the  few  rather  gaudy  chairs  which 
Caro's  mother  had  purchased  as  a  bargain  at  the  Hotel 
Drouot.  When  Caro  was  at  her  studies,  and  the  light 
was  too  obtrusive,  she  drew  a  screen,  managed  by  cords, 
across  the  window,  and  then  the  studio  was  filled  with 
delicate  and  cool  colour-tones,  which  harmonized  com- 
pletely with  the  notes  of  her  voice. 

Here  the  courageous  girl  had  lived  and  worked  for  many 
long  mouths,  —  mouths  that  hastened  to  swell  to  years,  but 
of  which  she  took  no  note,  so  thoroughly  engrossed  was 
she  in  the  pursuit  of  her  grand  aim  —  a  successful  dtbut 
upon  the  European  stage.  Here  she  had  now  and  then 
received  the  visit  of  some  foreign  musician  or  composer 
of  note,  attracted  by  the  enthusiastic  descriptions  which 
her  principal  instructor,  M£lari,  offered  of  her  person  and 
her  progress ;  and  here  from  time  to  time  Mrs.  Merlin 
gave  a  reception,  to  which  came  many  languid  ladies  from 
the  "  upper  circles  "of  that  mysterious  entity  denominated 
"  The  American  Colony  ;  "  young  and  ambitious,  as  well 
as  elderly  and  despairing,  painters  ;  genteel-looking  and 
penniless  Russians,  Spaniards,  Italians,  and  Frenchmen, 
fond  of  an  evening  occasionally  in  the  international 
Bohemia,  and  willing  to  flutter,  with  moth-like  adoration, 
around  the  flame  of  American  beauty ;  and  young  ladies 
who  were  aspirants  for  the  same  sort  of  success  which 


ON   THE  HOUSE-TOP.  235 

Caro  sought,  and  who  praised  her  to  her  face  as  freely 
as  they  indulged  in  detraction  of  her  when  her  back  was 
turned. 

Here,  too,  in  winter  evenings,  when  the  rain  sobbed 
outside,  and  the  furious  wind  cried  and  threatened  in  the 
garden,  and  Caro  was  weary  with  long  striving,  and 
oppressed  with  the  petty  cares  which  her  poverty  engen- 
dered, she  often  threw  herself  into  a  roomy,  leathern- 
covered  arm-chair  which  stood  near  the  piano,  and  sat  for 
hours,  white-faced  and  wet-eyed,  dreading  the  future  and 
almost  doubting  God  ;  — the  victim  of  that  terrible,  over- 
whelming prostration  which  follows  prolonged  artistic 
effort,  as  moonless,  terror-black  nights  often  follow  the 
most  cheerful  da}'s.  Good  Mrs.  Merlin  slept  peacefully, 
worn  out  with  toil,  in  her  small  bedroom  below  ;  but  Caro 
kept  her  vigil  and  nourished  her  silent  soul-ache  until  it 
left  a  mark  upon  her  sweet  face. 

Oh,  tender  yet  heroic  young  hearts  of  striving  maidens 
from  the  great  Republic  be3*ond  the  sea !  how  -have  you 
bled  and  suffered  in  the  watches  of  the  night,  and  shrank 
away  from  the  cynical  snarl  and  roar  of  the  great  foreign 
capital !  And  yet  you  have  made  no  complaints  ;  and 
we,  who  have  known  you  at  your  toil,  and  with  a  certain 
reverence  have  followed  you  in  your  careers,  and  rejoiced 
with  your  successes,  and  respected  you  in  your  failures, 
and  been  proud  of  your  virtue  and  honour  and  noble  per- 
sistence, can  never  forget  you !  "We  are  glad  with  you 
in  your  gladness,  and  we  sorrow  with  you  when  you  are 
in  despair. 

Poor  Caro  did  not  know  how  many  sympathetic  souls 
were  near  her,  how  many  would  joyfully  have  helped  her 
to  bear  the  burden  of  the  dread  discouragement,  of  the 
supreme  endeavour ;  and  she  often  rebelled  against  the 
divine  law  of  compensation  which  inexorably  requires 
that  those  who  have  walked  upon  the  mountain-tops  hand 


236  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

in  hand  with  inspiration  shall  descend  into  the  valleys  of 
humiliation,  and  be  environed  with  the  thick  darkness  of 
distrust.  Had  she  been  able  to  realize  that  all  about  her 
in  the  immense  capital  of  art  were  thousands  of  hearts, 
suffering,  aspiring,  dreading,  toiling,  as  she  suffered, 
aspired,  dreaded,  and  toiled,  she  might  have  felt  more 
willing  to  walk  humbly  beneath  her  load. 
•  A  fortnight  after  her  return  from  Switzerland,  Caro 
sat  nearly  all  night  in  the  old  arm-chair  at  the  end  of 
an  exhaustive  day  of  successful  study,  at  home  and  at 
Melari's.  The  next  morning  she  awoke  from  a  broken 
slumber  into  which  she  had  fallen  after  she  had  crawled, 
at  dawn,  to  her  small  bed  in  the  room  next  her  mother's, 
feeling  feverish,  petulant,  and  faint.  Mrs.  Merlin,  who 
kept  a  servant  only  for  the  sake  of  appearances  —  for  she 
insisted  upon  doing  the  greater  part  of  the  housework 
herself,  and,  as  she  phrased  it,  "  cooked  every  morsel  that 
Caro  put  into  her  head  ". —  came  in  with  a  fragrant  cup 
of  coffee  for  her  daughter,  aud  was  alarmed  at  the  girl's 
flushed  cheeks  and  haggard  look.  She  placed  the  coffee 
on  a  littlo  table  within  reach  of  Caro's  arm,  and,  sitting 
down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  began  to  pluck  convulsively 
at  the  corner  of  the  right  sleeve  of  her  morning  wrapper. 
Caro  knew  that  when  her  mother  indulged  in  this  gesture 
a  fit  of  tsars  was  close  at  hand  ;  and  she  felt  a  choking  in 
her  own  throat  as  she  gazed  at  the  simple,  honest,  worn 
face,  now  visibly  distressed  by  the  workings  of  some 
inward  grief.  She  laid  her  thin  white  hand  gently  upon 
her  mother's  roughened  fingers. 

"Don't  worry,  ma!  "  she  said.  "The  money  is  cer- 
tain to  come.  It  is  only  a  question  of  waiting,  and  we 
must  learn  to  put  up  with  a  little  inconvenience." 

Mrs.  Merlin's  tears  began  to  flow.  "It  ain't  the 
money  that  worries  me,  Caro,"  she  sobbed;  "it's  you. 
Oh,  daughter,  what  is  it  that  makes  you  set  up  all  night? 


ON   THE  HOUSE-TOP.  237 

I  know  you  did  it ;  you  haven't  slept  a  wink !  "What's 
the  good  of  tellin'  me  not  to  worry,  when  you  are  worry- 
in'  yourself  to  pieces.  Heigh-ho !  I  wish  we  were  safe 
back  in  Illinoy." 

"  Don't  cry,  unless  you  wish  to  unfit  me  for  my  day's 
study,"  said  Caro. 

Mrs.  Merlin  made  an  effort  to  control  her  emotion,  and 
Caro,  sitting  up  and  taking  the  coffee  in  one  hand,  began 
a  trill  with  her  clear,  sweet  voice,  as  if  to  make  sure  that 
she  could  still  sing. 

"  Come,  cheer  up,  mother !  "  she  said.  "  Don't  you  see 
how  cheerful  I  am  !  "  Her  lips  quivered,  and  the  shadow 
of  a  mortal  sadness  fell  on  her  face  as  she  said  these  words. 

"  I  feel,"  said  Mrs.  Merlin,  musingly,  "jest  like  I  did 
the  night  of  the  fire  in  Chicago.  I  feel  like  I  didn't  know 
nothin'.  Don't  you  remember,  after  we  was  burnt  out, 
they  found  me,  separated  from  the  rest  of  you,  settin'  in 
a  waggon  —  and  the  Lord  knows  how  I  ever  come  in  that 
waggon  !  —  and  they  says  to  me,  says  they,  '  You  must 
get  out  of  this  ;  the  fire's  spreadin'.'  And  I  says,  '  Well, 
tell  me  where  to  go.'  And  they  says,  '  What's  3'our  name, 
and  where  did  you  live?'  and  I  says,  'I  don't  know.' 
And  they  says,  '  What!  don't  know  what  your  own  name 
is  and  where  you  lived?'  I  says,  'No,  I  don't,' — and 
I  didn't.  Then  they  asked  me  my  husband's  name,  and 
my  children's  names,  and  my  friends'  names,  and  I 
couldn't  tell  'em,  for  the  (ire  had  clean  drove  everything 
out  of  my  head.  And  I  didn't  find  out  who  I  was  until 
more'n  an  hour  afterward.  Wai,  I  feel  to-day  like  I  did 
then  —  all  of  a  daze ;  an'  I  don't  care  what  happens  to 
me."  Mrs.  Merlin  lowered  her  voice  as  she  said  these 
last  words,  and  began  to  pluck  at  her  sleeve  once  more. 

"  Well,"  said  Caro,  "  we  shall  see  what  the  day  brings 
forth.  Our  position  is  somewhat  awkward,  but  we  must 
make  the  best  of  it." 


238  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

The  two  women  had  committed  the  feminine  impru- 
dence of  nearly  exhausting  their  slender  stock  of  money 
before  they  could  count  on  any  income  from  the  several 
rather  unreliable  sources  on  which  they  were  nevertheless 
compelled  to  rely.  A  "shrinkage"  in  the  value  of  the 
small  property  which  the  Merlins  possessed  in  a  prosper- 
ous village  not  far  from  Chicago  had  proved  most  unlucky 
for  Caro  and  her  mother ;  it  brought  them,  in  a  quarterly 
payment,  much  less  than  they  had  been  counting  upon, 
and  at  the  same  time  one  of  Caro's  newspaper  engage- 
ments failed  her.  Melari's  lesson-bill  was  due,  and  so 
were  various  annoying  accounts  at  a  dressmaker's ;  and, 
in  addition  to  these  disagreeable  debts,  Caro  saw  with 
fear  the  day  approaching  when  the  "ready  money,"  so 
indispensable  in  Paris,  would  be  gone.  Her  only  hope  of 
bridging  over  a  period  of  serious  financial  trouble  now  lay 
in  the  arrival  of  certain  moneys,  the  proceeds  of  a  draft 
which  she  had  made  on  a  Western  editor  who  had  pro- 
fessed himself  always  willing  to  pay  for  her  contributions 
"  in  advance,"  to  the  extent  of  any  reasonable  sum. 

Caro  believed  that  this  assurance  was  a  never-failing 
bank  on  which  she  could  draw  in  the  darkest  moments ; 
and  she  was  in  daily  expectation  of  receiving  a  message 
from  a  banking  agent  in  the  Rue  de  Provence,  who  had 
taken  the  draft  for  collection,  to  call  and  receive  its  pro- 
ceeds. With  that  sturdy  independence  which  was  part 
of  her  character,  she  had  put  away  from  her  all  thought 
of  appealing  to  Alice  Harrelston  or  other  acquaintances 
for  temporary  assistance.  Her  courage  was  firm,  but  her 
mind  was  troubled.  The  thought  that  Melari's  wonted  play- 
ful production  of  the  monthly  bill  for  lessons  might  soon 
cause  her  a  painful  embarrassment  filled  her  with  horror. 

She  drank  her  coffee,  sent  her  mother  into  the  garden, 
and  sang  as  she  dressed.  The  sadness  which  had  crept 
into  her  life  since  she  had  begun  to  distrust  the  Stanislas 


ON  THE  HOUSE-TOP.  239 

whom  she  so  fiercely  loved  in  secret  betrayed  itself  a  little 
in  her  voice.  Her  limbs  were  weary  and  her  head  was 
dizzy  as  she  came  forth  from  her  chamber  to  the  duties 
of  the  day.  Her  mother  met  her  at  the  door  opening  into 
the  garden  with  a  letter  in  her  hand. 

"Perhaps  this  is  something  about  the  money,  Caro," 
she  said.  "It's  addressed  to  you." 

Caro  broke  the  seal  eagerly. 

It  was  a  polite  note  from  the  banking  firm  which  had 
forwarded  Caro's  draft  upon  her  Western  friend,  inclosing 
notice  that  the  unlucky  document  was  protested,  because, 
said  a  scrawl  in  the  blank  spaces  of  a  printed  form,  the 
sight  of  which  made  Caro's  brow  hot,  the  person  on  w"hom 
it  was  drawn  "  was  absent,  and  had  left  no  instructions." 
In  short,  Caro's  paper  was  protested  for  non-acceptance, 
and  she  was  charged  with  the  expenses  of  the  protest. 

She  let  the  papers  flutter  from  her  nerveless  fingers  to 
the  floor,  and,  turning  slowly  away  from  her  mother,  went 
up  to  her  study-room  and  sat  down  dejectedly  in  the  arm- 
chair in  which  she  had  passed  the  greater  part  of  the 
night.  She  did  not  know  what  to  do  or  which  way  to 
turn ;  her  lack  of  knowledge  of  the  world  hampered  her 
cruelly  ;  and  imagination  forthwith  supplied  her  with  a 
hundred  .horrors,  consequent  on  this  temporary  lack  of 
money,  from  the  contemplation  of  which  she  shrank  back, 
appalled  and  faint.  It  seemed  to  her  that  everything  in 
the  universe  was  in  conspiracy  against  her,  to  wreck  her 
happiness,  and  to  ruin  her  chances  for  the  future.  Mrs. 
Merlin  did  not  come  to  comfort  her ;  for  the  good  woman 
knew  that  when  Caro  was  in  one  of  these  moods  she 
would  not  accept  consolation.  So  the  girl  sat,  lonely  and 
forlorn,  until,  under  the  influence  of  a  strange  impulse 
which  she  could  not  explain,  she  sprang  from  her  seat  and 
fled  up  the  narrow  spiral  staircase  which  led  to  the  balcony 
set  in  the  edge  of  the  house-top. 


240  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

Great  Paris  lay  below  her,  magnificent  in  the  autumn 
sunshine.  Miles  on  miles  away  stretched  the  Babylonian 
labyrinth  of  streets,  of  gleaming  roofs,  of  squares,  of 
palaces,  of  lofty  columns  ;  and  a  confused  murmur  drifted 
vaguely  through  the  air.  Her  gaze  rested  on  the  Trium- 
phal Arch,  superb  upon  its  hill  studded  with  princely 
residences  ;  then  on  the  glittering  dome  of  the  Invalides  ; 
and  then  was  fixed  upon  the  summit  of  the  Opera  House, 
where  she  could  descry  the  figure  of  Apollo,  holding  up 
his  gilded  lyre,  as  if  invoking  inspiration  from  the  heavens. 
Beyond  the  Seine  the  serried  ranks  of  the  houses  seemed 
innumerable ;  the  twin  towers  of  Notre  Dame  and  the 
majestic  cupola  of  the  Pantheon  were  the  only  landmarks 
that  she  knew. 

The  immensity  of  the  city  at  her  feet  oppressed,  almost 
alarmed  her.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  realized 
that  she  was  but  one  timid,  striving  creature  surrounded 
by  millions  who  were  utterly  indifferent  to  her  life  or  death ; 
who  were  ready  to  fawn  at  her  feet  if  she  could  startle 
them  with  the  priceless  treasures  of  a  glorious  voice,  and 
equally  willing  to  laugh  at  and  to  scorn  her  if  she  failed. 
A  less  delicate  and  less  refined  nature  would  have  been 
inflamed  with  ambition  by  this  outlook  over  the  famous 
capital,  with  its  tremendous  accumulation  of  wealth,  its 
marvels  of  luxury  and  taste,  and  would  have  vowed  itself 
to  greater  efforts  than  before  for  the  possession  of  many 
of  these  things.  But  Caro,  on  her  airy  perch,  felt  for  the 
moment  as  a  disembodied  spirit  might  feel  when  rising 
for  ever  above  all  the  pomps  and  vanities  of  the  world. 
She  saw  life  in  epitome,  and  in  all  its  romantic  and  terrify- 
ing graduations  ;  the  ducal  mansion  and  the  hospital,  the 
church  and  the  dead-house,  the  prison  and  the  palace,  the 
hostelry  witli  wide-open  doors,  and  the  cemetery  with  its 
yawning  ditches ;  the  insolence  of  ill-gotten  wealth,  and 
the  impotence  of  the  grovelling,  underfed  artisan ;  the 


ON  THE  HOUSE-TOP.  241 

opulence  of  grand  museums  crowded  with  marbles  and 
renowned  canvases,  and  the  pinched  and  unpicturesque 
poverty  of  the  seamstress's  garret  in  a  sunless  alley ;  the 
brilliant  procession  of  carriages  on  the  road  to  the  Bois, 
and  the  heartrending  pathos  of  the  cheap  funeral,  with 
its  unpaiuted  coffin  naked  on  the  pine  hearse,  and  its  miser- 
able accompaniment  of  maudlin  professional  mourners. 
And  as  the  sight  of  the  city  brought  these  visions  before 
her  mind,  she  shuddered,  and  a  weariness  of  life  seized 
upon  her.  This  comes  often  enough  to  the  young ;  it  is 
only  when  we  have  learned  how  hard  it  is  to  live  that  we 
cling  to  living,  as  the  wretch  buffeted  by  the  angry  seas 
clings  to  his  fragment  of  driftwood. 

While  she  fancied  that  these  mournful  reflections  were 
forcing  her  into  more  profound  depths  of  dejection  than 
any  she  had  yet  known,  the  kindly  warmth  of  the  sun  was 
doing  her  good.  She  leaned  on  the  iron  railing  of  the 
balcony,  and  presently  she  closed  her  eyes.  Then  the 
sombre  train  of  images  vanished.  For  one  instant  Caro 
saw  a  picture  of  a  young  girl  receiving  the  frantic  applause 
of  an  audience  in  a  closely  packed  theatre,  and  she 
fancied  that  she  heard  the  sound  of  music,  and  scented 
the  perfume  of  flowers  thrown  upon  the  stage  as  offerings 
to  the  fair  singer. 

"I  believe  I'm  half  asleep,"  said  Caro.  "I  must  go 
in ;  the  sun  is  too  hot." 

"Who  do  you  think  is  downstairs,  daughter?"  said 
Mrs.  Merlin's  voice  in  Caro's  ear. 

Caro  turned  quickly.  Her  mother,  breathing  hard 
after  clambering  up  two  flights  of  stairs,  stood  looking 
gravely  and  compassionately  at  her. 

"  I'm  sure  I  can't  imagine.  Why  don't  you  tell  me 
who  it  is  ?  " 

"It's  Stanislas.  He  came  bouncing  in  as  merry  as  a 
boy  ten  years  old,  and  making  excuses  for  his  morning 


242  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

call.  I  thought  he  was  not  coming  to  Paris  for  months 
yet." 

"  So  did  I,"  said  Caro,  looking  a  little  paler  than  when 
she  was  alone.  She  glanced  sharply  at  her  mother. 
"Remember,  not  one  word  about  —  our  —  affairs  !  " 

"Wai,  now,"  said  Mrs.  Merlin,  "of  course  we  don't 
want  to  depend  on  strangers,  but  I  have  no  doubt  that 
Stanislas  would  help  us  in  a  minute,  and  you  know  he  is 
rich  as  a  Jew  ! ' ' 

"Mother!"  said  the  girl,  in  a  smothered  voice.  "I 
am  ashamed  of  you  !  Ask  help — and  of  him  !  " 

"Very  well,  Mrs.  Lofty,"  said  the  old  lady.  "I'm 
sorry  that  you  take  your  mother  for  a  fool.  Will 
your  royal  majesty  condescend  to  receive  the  gentle- 
man?" 

"Forgive  me,  mother,"  murmured  Caro,  stepping  for- 
ward and  pressing  her  feverish  lips  against  Mrs.  Merlin's 
wrinkled  cheek.  "  I  am  cross  this  morning.  Please  ask 
Stanislas  to  come  up  here.  This  beautiful  view  will 
delight  him." 

Caro  had  done  her  mother  injustice.  Mrs.  Merlin 
would  have  starved  before  asking  a  foreigner  for  aid,  but 
she  had  a  motive  for  her  remark  about  Stanislas. 

"I'm  glad  I  said  that,"  she  muttered,  mournfully,  as 
sho  went  down  to  the  small  parlour.  "  I  know  now,  from 
the  way  she  started,  that  she  loves  him.  Oh  dear !  what 
will  come  of  it  all?  " 

Stanislas  stood  for  a  moment,  shading  his  eyes  with  his 
hand,  when  he  came  out  upon  the  balcony.  Caro  was 
lovely  in  her  simple  morning  dress,  with  a  white  rose  at 
her  throat,  and  the  sunshine  on  her  chestnut  hair.  She 
looked  carefully  at  the  musician,  and  found  that  his  hand- 
some face  was  a  trifle  fatigued.  There  were  dark  circles 
beneath  the  blue-black  eyes,  and  their  fascinating  glance 
seemed  somewhat  dulled  by  anxiety  and  pain.  But  the 


ON  THE   HOTJSE-TOP.  243 

charm,  the  nameless  charm,  was  still  there  for  her.  She 
felt  it,  she  owned  it. 

"Why  are  you  not  in  London,  Monsieur  the  Un- 
steady?" she  said  presently,  holding  out  her  hand,  which 
he  hastened  forward  to  take,  and  to  relinquish  only  when 
she  tried  to  withdraw  it.  "We  did  not  expect  you  for 
weeks  yet." 

"How  beautiful!"  he  cried,  enthusiastically,  with  a 
sweeping  gesture  which  seemed  to  comprehend  every  thing 
within  his  vision's  range.  "  Beautiful  —  the  lady  most  of 
all!  and  that  splendid  Paris  bej-ond  !  Ravishing!"  He 
lowered  his  voice,  "And  if  I  came  here,  away  from  my 
concerts,  because  I  desire  to  be  near  you,  would  you 
reprove  me  ?  " 

Caro  trembled,  and  leaned  against  the  balcony  rail  for 
support. 

"Is  that  a  Polish  or  a  Russian  compliment,  Monsieur 
Stanislas?"  she  said. 

"  It  is  the  truth  that  I  am  no  longer  myself  when  I  am 
not  near  you.  I  have  cancelled  my  engagements  for  the 
present,  and  come  back  to  Paris.  Will  you  forgive  me  if 
I  say  it  is  because  I  wish  to  breathe  the  same  air  with 
you?" 

"  Given  up  your  concerts  !  "  said  Caro,  in  amazement. 
Then  she  grew  rosy  red.  Although  she  was  determined 
not  to  accept  it,  there  was  something  inexpressibly 
delightful  to  her  in  this  homage  from  the  man  whom  she 
had  reverenced  until  she  began  to  distrust  him. 

"  You  are  angry?  " 

' '  No  ;  I  am  only  sorry  that  you ' ' 

"  Ah,  bah  !  it  does  not  matter  a  feather's  weight !  What 
are  concerts  to  me?  Have  I  not  given  them  since  I  was 
sixteen?  They  horrify  me,  those  concerts!  No;  here  I 
am,  and  here  in  Paris  I  will  remain,  if  you  do  not  banish 
me  because  I  have  spoken ' ' 


244  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

"  And  your  sister?  "  said  Caro.  "  Has  she  come  with 
you?" 

Stanislas  looked  into  Caro's  eyes  with  a  merry  smile 
on  his  lips. 

"  No,  poor  girl !  But  she  will  soon  be  in  Paris.  She 
is  crazy,  as  you  know,  about  the  study  of  medicine." 

"Ah!" 

"  Quite  a  maniac,  I  assure  you  !  She  will  not  take  my 
advice. .  But  do  you  not  fear  to  stand  so  in  the  hot  sun  ? 
You  are  pale  now,  and  you  were  quite  fevered  a  moment 
ago.  Ah,  Miss  Caro,  you  have  been  overworking  !  But  I 
shall  not  allow  you  to  do  so  again.  You  must  save  your 
strength.  Melari  says  wonderful  things  about  you  !  Will 
you  not  let  me  help  to  direct  your  education  ?  You  know 
how  much  your  success  is  to  me  !  Do  you  know  that  since 
that  evening  in  the  garden  on  the  terrace  at  Berne,  I  see 
you  with  new  eyes  —  I  see  you  as  you  are  —  I  see  only  you  ! 
Caro,  Je  t'aime!  I  love  }'ou,  I  live  for  you  !  Do  not  hate 
me  or  distrust  me  !  I  must  speak  !  I  am  not  like  other 
men,  watchful  of  les  convenances  —  how  do  you  call  them, 
the  proprieties?  I  see  you,  I  love  you,  and  I  tell  you  so ! 
Caro,  Je  t'aime!  " 

A  little  abashed  at  his  own  swift  and  reckless  vehe- 
mence, he  stood  close  beside  her,  his  face  filled  with  the 
tender  melancholy  which  Caro  had  so  many  times  noted 
and  adored  when  he  was  improvising.  His  lips  were 
parted,  and  his  whole  attitude  was  one  of  intense  expec- 
tation of  the  girl's  answer. 

ik  Glory,  Caro!"  cried  Mrs.  Merlin,  struggling  up 
through  the  stairway  door  with  a  letter  in  her  hand,  and 
flourishing  the  missive  violently.  k%  Now  we  know  why  our 
draft  was  pro  —  why  we  got  that  letter  this  morning.  It  is 
because  Mr.  Halmont  was  on  his  way  to  Europe  — doctors 
scut  him  —  said  he'd  overworked.  And  he's  here  at  the 
Grand  Hotel,  aud  has  sent  up  his  card  to  know  when  he 


ON  THE  HOUSE-TOP.  245 

may  call ;  and  when  he  comes  he  will  surely  arrange  that 
matter  for  us.  So  you  needn't  worry  any  more " 

She  stopped  suddenly,  with  a  startled  cry.  Poor  Caro, 
under  the  excitement  caused  by  the  passionate  declaration 
of  Stanislas,  and  the  news  of  this  probable  relief  from  her 
financial  vexations,  felt  as  if  she  were  borne  gently  upward 
into  the  air ;  but  in  reality  she  was  fainting,  and  falling. 

Stanislas  stretched  out  his  arms  eagerly,  but  Mrs. 
Merlin  grimly  interposed  herself. 

"  You  go  first  ahead  of  me  downstairs  so's  't  I  shan't 
fall,"  she  said,  "  and  I'll  bring  her.  She's  all  overworked, 
and  I'm  afraid  this  sun's  ben  too  much." 

Stanislas  was  convinced  that  it  was  not  the  sun  which 
had  troubled  Caro,  and  the  blood  came  and  went  strangely 
in  his  cheeks,  and  his  blue-black  eyes  gave  out  curious 
gleams  of  light,  as  he  obeyed  Mrs.  Merlin's  injunction  to 
precede  her. 


CHAPTER  XXH. 

GOLDEN   MOMENTS. 

STANISLAS  sat  down  on  the  piano-stool,  and  let  his  hands 
fall  helplessly  in  his  lap.  There  was  a  flash  of  indignation 
in  Mrs.  Merlin's  eyes,  as  she  looked  up  at  the  young  man, 
after  seating  her  pallid  daughter  in  the  old  arm-chair,  and 
winning  her  back  to  consciousness  by  the  use  of  restora- 
tives hastily  brought  from  below.  The  mother  did  not 
like  the  manner  in  which  the  musician  contemplated  the 
insensible  Caro.  It  was  certain  that  there  was  no  compas- 
sion in  his  look.  His  aesthetic  sense  was  pleased,  but  his 
sympathy  was  not  aroused.  On  the  house-top  he  had 
stretched  out  his  arms  to  catch  the  falling  Caro  because  it 
had  seemed  to  him  that  it  would  be  fine  to  fold  the  fair 
young  creature  for  a  moment  to  his  breast,  not  because 
he  was  particularly  anxious  to  save  her  from  a  fall.  la 
another  mood  it  might  have  occurred  to  him  that  it  was 
-vastly  flattering  to  see  a  young  maiden  swoon  away  and 
drop  at  his  feet  because  lie  indulged  in  a  mad  declaration 
of  love  for  her,  and  he  would  have  —  let  her  sink  before 
thim.  Now,  as  he  sat  facing  her,  and  watching  the  returning 
life-current  as  it  stole  into  her  cheeks,  and  as  it  made  her 
lips  tremble,  he  was  trying  to  imagine  what  she  would  do 
and  say  when  she  remembered  his  frenzied  professions, 
lie  took  a  lazy  pleasure  in  this  —  such  pleasure  as  he  found 
in  daintily  caressing  the  white  keys  of  his  piano  with  his 
246 


GOLDEN  MOMENTS.  247 

whiter  fingers  now  and  then — not  forcing  them  to  give  out 
any  sound,  but  silently  improvising.  Mrs.  Merlin,  with 
her  unerring  mother's  instinct,  felt  that  Stanislas  was, 
in  some  inexplicable  manner,  wrong  and  insincere  ;  and 
the  phrase  which  came  rushing  to  her  lips,  and  which  she 
narrowly  escaped  saying  aloud  in  her  excitement,  was, 
"Why,  he  does  not  love  her.  He  looks  at  her  like  a  child 
looks  at  a  plaything  !  " 

Caro  opened  her  eyes  widely,  and  the  first  object  that 
she  saw  was  the  musician's  handsome  face.  She  looked 
at  him  steadily,  without  any  suggestion  of  timidity  in  her 
gaze.  Stanislas  was  himself  abashed  by  this  frank  and 
adoring  contemplation  of  his  features ;  in  his  soul  there, 
was  a  momentary  twinge  of  reproach  ;  and  he  could  almost 
fancy  that  he  heard  a  voice  saying  reproachfully  to  him, 
"What  have  you  done?  What  have  you  done?" 
Presently  he  turned  his  eyes  uneasily  away  from  Caro 
and  rose. 

The  girl  was  determined  to  be  happy.  She  felt  as  if  a 
great  burden  had  fallen  from  her  back,  and  the  vague 
suspicion  which  she  had  cherished  about  Vera  was  gone 
now.  It  had  melted  like  morning  dew  in  the  sunshine  of 
the  love  of  Stanislas,  and  life  once  more  seemed  worth 
living.  He  had  come  —  drawn  to  her  by  irresistible  forces 
which  he  could  not  explain  ;  had  brought  her  his  love  and 
laid  it  at  her  feet.  She  felt  a  delicious  thrill  of  triumph. 
New  visions  of  a  sensuous  artistic  existence,  full  of  glit- 
tering lights,  music,  perfumes,  flowers,  plaudits  of  enrap- 
tured throngs,  and  worship  of  adoring  thousands,  arose 
before  her.  Now  she  could  do  anything  and  everything 
necessary  for  success.  All  her  old  weariness  was  gone,  and 
she  smiled  as  she  thought  of  her  bitter  hours  of  doubt  and 
despair.  A  new  world  had  dawned  upon  her,  and  she  felt 
a  great  thirst  for  its  glories,  its  pleasures,  and  its  sublime 
sensations. 


248  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

By-and-by  Stanislas  recovered  from  his  confusion  and 
looked  at  Caro  again.  Mrs.  Merlin  ran  downstairs  for  a 
minute  or  two,  to  get  a  fresh  instalment  of  remedies  for 
dizziness. 

Caro  spoke  first.  "Did  I  float  down  through  the 
roof?  "  she  said.  "  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know  how  I  came 
here." 

The  musician  was  at  her  side  in  an  instant. 

"  You  are  angel  enough  to  have  wings,"  he  answered 
in  a  deep  whisper.  Then  he  bent  downward,  and  said 
nloud,  "  Oh,  Caro,  forgive  me  for  my  rudeness,  my  vulgar 
haste.  I  swear  to  }TOU  that  I  could  not  help  it — that  I  did 
not  know  —  I  was  forced  to  speak." 

She  made  no  answer,  but  looked  up  at  him  with  the 
same  earnest,  loyal  gaze  which  had  so  confused  him  a 
moment  before.  Her  firm  lips  were  tremulous  and  her 
blue  eyes  were  filled  with  tears.  Her  silence  was  eloquent. 

" Do  you  know,"  he  went  on,  "I  was  going  to  speak  to 
you,  about  — about  —  to  tell  you  all  this  in  the  garden  at 
Berne  that  night  when  —  when  your  worthy  mother  came 
pouncing  down  upon  us  like  —  like " 

"Be  careful,  sir,  to  what  you  compare  my  mother," 
said  the  girl,  a  faint  gleam  of  fun  stealing  in  among 
the  tears  in  her  eyes.  "  But  you  can  say  like  a  hawk 
on  two  innocent  little  chickens,  if  you  wish.  Ma  was 
startling." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  musician,  dr)'ly,  "  she  was.  But  now, 
at  last,  I  have  told  you.  And  it  has  startled  you  more 
than  she  startled  us.  How  can  I  atone?  Do  anything  to 
me  except  send  me  away." 

Banish  him  from  her  sight !  She  would  as  soon  have 
thought  of  banishing  the  sun  from  the  sky.  He  had 
become  so  firmly  rooted  in  her  life  that  she  felt  as  if  to  lose 
him  would  be  death  to  her. 

"  Speak,  Caro,  c/ter/e,  a  word  to  tell  me  that  I  may 


GOLDEN  MOMENTS.  249 

hope  —  that  I  may  stay  at  your  side  —  my  beautiful  singer 
—  my  treasure  —  my  saint  —  my  dream  ! ' ' 

Once  more  the  honest  calm  of  the  American  maiden's 
look  confused  him.  He  felt  that  each  word  was  registered 
upon  her  heart ;  that  she  was  not  now  abashed  and  over- 
come, but  glad  and  proud,  and  that  she  was  not  ashamed 
to  confess  her  tender  and  steadfast  affection  for  him.  His 
face  was  close  to  hers ;  his  nervous  right  hand  was  laid 
boldly  upon  both  of  hers  ;  his  lips  touched  hers  —  O  golden 
moment !  He  stood  apart  from  her,  humbly  waiting,  as  he 
had  waited  on  the  house-top,  for  his  answer. 

"Oh,  Stanislas  !  "  she  said,  "  stay,  stay,  for  ever  as  you 
are,  young  and  noble  and  —  and  loving.  You  have  guessed 
my  secret,  and  I  will  trust  it  in  your  keeping.  I  will  trust 
you  —  I  will  trust  you.  And  oh !  do  not  say  another 
word  to  me  now!  " 

He  came  back  to  her ;  he  covered  her  hands  with  kisses  ; 
he  whispered  passionate  and  endearing  words  in  her  ear. 
Then,  hearing  footsteps  below,  he  went  hastily  to  the  piano, 
and,  sitting  down,  began  playing  with  magnificent  em- 
phasis and  expression  Mendelssohn's  "  Wedding  March." 
When  Mrs.  Merlin  got  back  to  Caro's  arm-chair  she  found 
the  girl  with  her  head  thrown  back,  her  face  quite  pale,  and 
a  strange  smile  at  her  lips.  There  was  the  gleam  of  a  new 
hope  on  the  young  singer's  brow.  Life  had  a  profound 
meaning  for  her  now.  The  old  lady  sighed,  and  turned 
away  her  head.  Her  daughter's  happiness  frightened  her. 

"Colonel  Cliff's  downstairs,  Caro,"  said  Mrs.  Merlin; 
"  shall  I  ask  him  to  come  up?  It  looks  like  everybody 
thought  that  we  hold  receptions  in  the  morning." 

Stanislas  was  apparently  absorbed  in  his  music.  Caro 
would  have  preferred  to  be  alone  with  him  and  the  joyous 
harmonies  which  he  evoked  from  the  piano,  but  she  said  — 

"  Certainly.  Mother —  don't  —  say  —  that  I  have  been 
dizzy.  He  won't  wish  to  hear  of  our  infirmities  ;  he  will 


250  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

be  entirely  taken  up  with  Alice's  illness.  He  worships  the 
very  ground  that  she  walks  on.  Please  ask  him  to  come 
at  once." 

Mrs.  Merlin  obediently  summoned  the  Colonel  from 
below.  He  came  up  the  stairs,  two  at  a  bound,  in  his 
light  graceful  way,  and  pausing  before  Caro's  chair,  made 
his  bow  with  a  refined  and  any  mannerism  which  showed 
that  he  had  not  yet  laid  aside  his  military  training. 
There  was  much  of  the  stateliness  of  the  soldier  still  visible 
underneath  the  civil  disguise  of  an  English  riding  suit, 
leathern  gloves,  and  gaiters.  Colonel  Cliff  had  evidently 
been  on  horseback,  for  he  held  a  whip  in  one  hand  ;  and 
Caro,  as  she  greeted  him,  inquired  if  he  had  been  in  pur- 
suit of  adventures,  like  Don  Quixote,  and  if  he  had  chanced 
to  have  a  tilt  with  the  windmill  on  Montmartre's  summit. 

"  Not  so,"  he  answered,  laughing,  although  he  looked 
worried  and  vexed.  "I  have  just  arrived  from  Don 
Quixote's  country,  but  I  am  no  Quixote  myself.  If  there 
is  an}-  distressed  damsel  to  succour  I  offer  my  services,  but 
I  see  that  you  already  have  one  defender."  He  went  to 
shake  hands  with  Stanislas,  who  said  he  was  delighted 
to  see  him. 

"  ficoutez,  Mr.  Cliff,"  said  Stanislas,  after  their  saluta- 
tions, "  if  Mademoiselle  Merlin  were  in  the  category  of 
distressed  damsels,  do  you  know  I  do  not  think  that  she 
would  require  us  as  defenders.  American  girls  always 
take  care  of  themselves." 

"  Indeed  they  do,"  said  Mrs.  Merlin,  with  a  slight  ring 
of  defiance  in  her  voice. 

"  And  that,"  said  Stanislas,  languidly  striking  key  after 
key  of  the  piano,  u  is — the  reason  —  that  —  I  —  adore 
them  — all." 

"•  The  old  method,  I  see,  Monsieur  Stanislas,"  remarked 
the  Colonel,  dryly.  "Still  adoring  several  millions  of 
goddesses  at  the  same  time  !  What  courage I  "  He 


GOLDEN  MOMENTS.  251 

stopped  short,  for  a  look  on  the  musician's  face  told  him 
that  he  was  to  go  no  farther. 

"  The  attributes  of  all  these  millions  must  be  combined 
forme  in  one  person,  "  said  Stanislas,  "and  it  is  that 
person  that  I  shall  adore."  He  looked  up  from  the  piano, 
and  Caro  felt  that  his  gaze  rested  for  a  moment  on  her, 
then  upon  her  mother,  then  on  the  Colonel  —  as  if  he  were 
judging  of  the  effect  of  his  remark  upon  each  of  them. 

"  The  idee  of  a  musician  adorin'  anything  but  his 
music  !  "  said  Mrs.  Merlin.  "  He  lives  in  a  fancy  world, 
and  can't  get  down  to  realities  —  not  even  long  enough  to 
find  out  what  happiness  is  like." 

"  Have  you  seen  the  Harrelstons,  Colonel?  "  said  Caro, 
abruptly. 

' '  Not  the  ladies.  I  arrived  yesterday,  and  this  morning, 
as  I  went  for  a  gallop  in  the  Bois,  I  met  Mr.  Harrelston 
driving  into  town.  He  tells  me  that  his  daughter  has 
been  seriously  ill  with  a  kind  of  fever  since  her  return 
from  Switzerland  ;  that  her  mother  is  quite  worn  out  with 
watching  her,  and  that  at  present  they  can  receive  no  one. 
How  odd  that  Miss  Harrelston  should  be  ill !  She  was  the 
picture  of  health  when  I  left  her.  I  —  I  thought  possibly 
you  could  tell  me  more  about  it ;  in  fact,  I  may  as  well 
tell  you  that  I  trotted  over  here  both  in  search  of  news, 
and  to  give  myself  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  once  more." 

He  tapped  his  gaiters  impatiently  with  his  whip.  Caro 
smiled,  but  so  faintly  that  the  good  Colonel  did  not  per- 
ceive it. 

"We've  ben  right  worried  about  Alice,"  said  Mrs. 
Merlin,  looking  up  at  the  curtain  drawn  across  the  great 
north  window.  "  She's  so  emotional !  Her  feelings  weigh 
on  her  terribly." 

Colonel  Cliff  looked  from  Caro's  mother  to  Caro, 
mutely  demanding  an  explanation  of  this  last  somewhat 
enigmatical  remark,  but  none  was  vouchsafed. 


252  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

"At  what  time  was  she  taken  ill?"  finally  asked 
Colonel  Cliff. 

"  Two  or  three  days  after  our  return  from  Switzerland 
she  called  here,  in  the  afternoon,  and  was  as  charming  as 
usual,"  said  Caro.  "  She  seemed  full  of  life  and  gaiety, 
and  two  days  after  that  came  a  note  from  her  mother 
saying  that  Alice  was  in  a  raging  fever.  We  called,  but 
the  servants  said  the  house  was  closed  to  visitors,  and  we 
only  received  a  message  from  Mrs.  Harrelston  to  say  that 
she  was  '  very  much  alarmed.'  ' 

Colonel  Cliff  pulled  the  glove  off  from  his  left  hand, 
but  hastily  put  it  on  again,  with  a  look  of  vexation  at 
having  betrayed  his  uneasiness. 

"  I  tell  Caro,"  said  Mrs.  Merlin,  who  had  never  quite 
learued  prudence  in  speech,  "  that  the  Injun  is  at  the 
bottom  of  it  all." 

"The  Indian!"  cried  the  Colonel,  sitting  down  and 
looking  a  trifle  frightened.  "  What  do  you  mean?  " 

Colonel  Cliff's  tone  showed  the  old  lady  that  she  had 
made  a  mistake. 

"Do  you  think  that  Mr.  Merrinott  has  the  evil  eye, 
Mrs.  Merlin ? "  said  Stanislas,  "and  that  he  has  bewitched 
Miss  Harrelston?" 

The  Colonel  frowned,  and  looked  at  Stanislas  as  if  he 
would  have  liked  to  throw  him  downstairs. 

"Wai,"  said  Mrs.  Merlin,  slowly,  "I  think  that  if  the 
Injun  had  the  force  to  bewitch  Alice  —  I  say  (/"he  had  —  that 
she  would,  on  her  side,  have  strength  enough  to — to " 

"Overcome  his  witcheries,"  suggested  Caro. 

"  Caro,  don't  take  the  words  out  of  your  ma's  mouth. 
Overcome  his  witchery  —  if  it  most  half  killed  her." 

"  Well,  wonders  will  never  cease.  We  are  now  intro- 
duced to  Pleasant  Merrinott,  the  half-breed  hero  of  the 
border,  as  an  enchanter,"  said  Colonel  Cliff,  scornfully. 
"What  next?  Why,  I  saw  him  this  morning  at  eight 


GOLDEN  MOMENTS.  253 

o'clock,  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  scowling  at  every  cockney 
that  stared  at  him,  and  I  went  up  and  spoke  to  him.  He 
was  not  over  glad  to  see  me.  You  know  that  he  doesn't 
love  me.  He  has  just  arrived  from  Geneva,  and  was  very 
much  elated  at  the  prospect  of  a  forthcoming  interview 
with  Mr.  Harrelston  on  the  same  old  worn-out  topic,  the 
wrongs  of  the  Nation.  But  as  for  Miss  Harrelston,  he 
did  not  even  inquire  about  her;  and  when  I  asked  him 
where  he  had  parted  with  you  all,  he  simply  said,  '  At 
Berne,'  and  changed  the  subject." 

"  Parted  with  us?  He  did  not  even  come  to  say  good- 
bye to  us  —  or  to  the  Harrelstous,"  said  Mrs.  Merlin. 

"  Oh,  he  has  no  manners  ;  and  you  did  not  expect  them 
from  him." 

"Well,  yes,  I  think  we  did  rather  expect  them,"  said 
Caro. 

"  And  perhaps  Miss  Harrelston  was  a  little  surprised 
at  the  absence  of  them,"  said  Stanislas,  dryly. 

Colonel  Cliff  looked  sharply  again  at  the  musician. 

"By  the  way,"  he  said  to  him,  "Mr.  Merrinott  sur- 
prised me  by  speaking,  in  most  enthusiastic  terms,  of  a 
lady  whom  he  had  met  in  Berne  and  subsquently  in 
Geneva,  and  whom  he  called  your  sister.  I  was  under  the 
impression  that  you  told  me  —  one  night  at  Meiringen  — 
that  you  were  quite  alone  in  the  world  —  that  you  pos- 
sessed neither  kith  nor  kin." 

There  was  a  faint  cry,  and  Caro  sprang  to  her  feet. 
Her  face  was  white.  A  tall  pile  of  music-books  stood 
on  the  corner  of  the  piano.  The  girl  ran  to  it,  managed 
to  give  it  an  adroit  push  with  her  elbow,  and  sent  it  to  the 
floor. 

"  That  has  been  toppling  for  some  moments,"  she  said, 
"and  I  thought  I  could  jump  in  time  to  save  it."  She 
turned  away  from  her  mother's  inquisitive  look  as  Colonel 
Cliff  hastened  to  pick  up  the  scattered  books. 


254  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

"Sister  Vera?"  responded  Stanislas,  composedly. 
"Did  Mr.  Merrinott  see  her  in  Geneva?  Are  you  sure 
that  I  did  not  mention  her  to  you  ?  She  is  so  eccentric, 
poor  girl !  "  He  sighed.  "  No ;  I  do  not  often  speak  of 
her.  She  came  from  Zurich,  where  she  has  been  study- 
ing, to  Berne,  to  see  me,  and  it  was  there  that  our 
friends  met  her." 

"Oh,  then  the  ladies  have  seen  her,  and  I  am  sure 
will  echo  Mr.  Merrinott's  compliments,"  said  the  Colonel, 
whose  face  wore  a  puzzled  look. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mrs.  Merlin.  "  Though,  as  to  study- 
in'  medicine,  I  did  hint  to  her  once  that  I  thought  she  was 
layin'  up  misery  for  herself  by  enteriii'  into  men's  employ- 
ments." 

Caro  had  now  recovered,  and  she  turned  and  looked 
at  Stanislas.  His  eyes  met  hers.  His  gaze  was  calm, 
sincere ;  her  doubt,  which  had  sprung  up  anew  with 
savage  force,  settled  slowly,  almost  reluctantly,  back  into 
that  recess  of  her  soul,  where  it  still  lingered.  Let  it 
linger !  She  would  fight  it !  It  would  be  too  terribly 

hard  and  bitter  to  find  that  Stanislas No ;  she  put 

the  thought  away  as  unworthy  of  her.  And  could  she 
not  unravel  the  mystery,  if  any  mystery  there  were,  in 
Vera's  existence? 

The  conversation  turned  upon  music,  and  the  vicissi- 
tudes of  young  ladies  engaged  in  obtaining  a  musical 
education  in  Continental  cities.  Colonel  Cliff  told  some 
horrifying  stories  of  heart-breaking  failures,  and  Stanislas 
gave  a  picturesque  sketch  of  the  brilliant  success  of  two 
or  three  American  girls  whom  he  had  known.  Presently 
the  servant  arrived  to  say  that  the  man  holding  the 
Colonel's  horse  would  hold  him  no  longer,  and  they  all 
went  down  into  the  garden  together. 

"Do  not  stand  in  the  sun,"  whispered  Stanislas  to 
Caro,  with  a  lover-like  solicitude.  "  And  do  not  work 


GOLDEN  MOMENTS.  255 

to-day.  Rest,  think,  try  to  forgive  me.  To-morrow, 
when  Melari  comes  to  give  his  lesson  I  shall  come  with 
him,  may  I  not?  And  I  shall  remain  a  moment  after  he 
has  gone,  to  tell  you  that  —  I  love  you." 

A  russet  leaf  fluttered  down  from  one  of  the  gnarled 
trees  above  their  heads,  and  rested  for  an  instant  on 
Caro's  bosom.  Then  it  flew  airily  away  again,  and  would 
have  fallen  had  not  the  musician  caught  it  deftly  and 
carried  it  to  his  lips. 

' '  A  souvenir  !  A  memorial  of  the  happiest  day  of  my 
life,"  he  whispered. 

' '  To-morrow  —  we  —  shall  —  meet ! ' '  said  Caro,  and 
then  her  mother  called  to  her  from  the  gate  to  come  and 
see  the  Colonel's  horse. 

"  Bring  us  news  of  Alice,  if  you  have  any,  to-morrow, 
Colonel,"  said  the  girl. 

"  Thanks.  I  will.  I  will  get  news  —  from  the  Indian, 
if  I  can  have  it  from  no  one  else,"  answered  Colonel 
Cliff,  with  a  curious  smile. 

Stanislas  walked  beside  the  horseman  to  the  end  of  the 
Rue  de  1'Orient.  He  stopped  there,  and  laying  his  hand 
on  the  saddle,  looked  up  at  the  Colonel. 

' '  I  have  made  a  little  discovery  about  the  Indian  — 
about  Mr.  Merriuott,"  he  said,  flinching  a  bit  before 
Colonel  Cliff's  keen  gaze,  "and  I  think  you  ought  to 
know  what  it  is.  If  you  feel  inclined  to  promise  me 
to  keep  it  entirely  to  yourself  —  confidential  in  the  very 
strictest  sense  —  I  will  tell  you  what  it  is." 

"Why,  yes,"  said  the  Colonel,  scratching  the  horse's 
ear  with  his  whip,  and  speaking  thoughtfully,  "if  it  is 
anything  that  I  ought  to  know  you  may  tell  it,  and  count 
on  my  discretion." 

"Well,"  said  the  musician,  gravely,  "I  tell  you  that 
Pleasant  Merriuott  —  who  seems  so  innocent  of  the  world 
and  all  its  tricks  —  is  tainted  with  Socialistic  notions,  is 


256  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE, 

in  relation  with  some  of  the  leading  Socialists  of  the  time, 
and  is  at  this  moment  entangled  in  a  Nihilist  web  of  con- 
spiracy." 

44  Indeed  !  And  how  did  you  find  this  out,  may  I  ask?  " 
44  Accidentally.     And  I  tell  you  because  it  may  guide 
you  in  your  relations  with  him." 

44  How  can  his  opinions  affect  me,  Monsieur  Stanislas?  " 
The  musician  removed  his  hand  from  the  saddle, 
stepped  back,  and  saluted  the  Colonel  courteously.  44  Au 
revoir,"  he  said.  44 1  only  mentioned  it  because  it  might 
be  embarrassing  for  you  —  or  for  —  for  your  friends  to 
be  connected  with  Mr.  Pleasant  Merrinott,  in  case  any 
scandal  should  arise  from  his  taste  for  conspiracy." 

44  Thanks.  I  will  bear  it  in  mind.  Good  morning." 
And  the  Colonel  gallopped  off  to  the  outer  boulevards, 
where  he  gave  his  horse  a  tremendous  run.  As  he  drew 
rein  not  far  from  the  Triumphal  Arch,  he  fell  to  musing 
on  what  Stanislas  had  told  him.  He  had  heard  much 
about  the  musician's  career,  from  some  friends  in  Spain, 
during  his  journey,  and  had  formed  a  new  estimate  of  the 
character  of  Stanislas. 

44 1  will  observe  Mr.  Merrinott  closely,  Monsieur  the 
pianist,"  he  said  to  himself;  44but  I  will  keep  a  sharp 
eye  on  you  also,  for  the  next  few  weeks." 


CHAPTER  XXHL 

A   LOVING   STRATAGEM. 

"WELL,  Mr.  Harrelston,"  said  Pleasant,  stalking  into 
the  banker's  private  office,  and  coming  straight  up  to  the 
desk  over  which  the  gentleman  was  bent  in  an  attitude  of 
the  deepest  attention,  "you  see  that  I  have  lost  no  time 
in  obeying  your  summons.  I  hope  that  nothing  extraor- 
dinary has  happened  in  the  Nation.  I  haven't  heard  for 
a  right  smart ' ' 

The  banker  looked  up  hastily,  and  the  Indian  was  a 
trifle  startled  to  see  a  deep  flush  —  either  of  anger  or 
vexation  —  settle  upon  Mr.  Harrelston's  fine  frank  face. 
But  it  passed  away  almost  as  speedily  as  it  had  come,  and 
Pleasant  was  relieved  to  see  Mr.  Harrelston  arise  and 
give  him  his  hand,  and  to  hear  him  say  — 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  here,  Mr.  Merrinott.  Excuse  me 
for  five  minutes ;  I  have  a  few  signatures  to  attend  to, 
and  then  I  shall  be  at  liberty.  Please  sit  down."  He 
called  his  secretaries  one  by  one  to  his  desk,  gave  each  a 
few  instructions,  and  told  them  to  remove  their  work  to 
another  room.  Then  he  rang  a  bell  and  his  cashier  ap- 
peared. "  If  any  one  asks  for  me,  say  that  I  am  not  to 
be  seen  until  after  four.  Let  it  be  especially  understood 
that  I  am  on  no  account  to  be  disturbed." 

Pleasant  sat  down,  and  soon  found  himself  alone  with 
the  banker,  who  was  signing  cheques,  documents,  and 

257 


258  THE   GEXTLE   SAVAGE. 

letters  with  the  cool  and  careful  precision  of  the  methodical 
business  man.  A  window  was  open,  affording  an  outlook 
upon  a  pretty  square,  where  tall  sycamores  stood  ranged 
in  regular  rows  ;  where  nursemaids  in  white  caps  and  blue 
ribbons  were  lazily  promenading  with  small  children  ;  and 
where  there  was  a  perennial  caucus  of  red-faced  and  shiny- 
hatted  coachmen,  who  were  regulating  affairs  of  State  in 
a  noisy  conversation,  while  they  polished  their  whip- 
handles,  or  fed  their  horses  on  small  wisps  of  hay. 

The  bright  afternoon  sun  on  the  dark  green  leaves,  the 
aroma  of  the  flowering  plants  on  the  window-ledge,  and 
the  bronze  figure  of  Charlemagne,  in  his  warrior's  garb, 
on  the  marble  mantelpiece,  pleased  the  young  man.  He 
studied  the  scene  bit  by  bit,  and  was  quite  absorbed  in 
his  study  when  Mr.  Harrelston  arose  and  carried  out  an 
oblong  wicker  tray  piled  high  with  papers.  Returning, 
the  banker  closed  the  door,  dropped  a  heavy  Algerian 
curtain  in  front  of  it,  looked  around  as  if  to  assure  him- 
self that  no  one  had  managed  to  conceal  himself  under 
the  tables,  and  then  settled  down  into  his  chair  with  the 
air  of  a  man  who  has  something  very  serious  to  say.  He 
was  evidently  embarrassed  as  to  making  a  beginning,  and 
so  Pleasant  said  — 

"  I  received  your  despatch  just  as  I  was " 

"Mr.  Merrinott,"  said  the  banker,  who  did  not  seem 
to  have  hear.d  Pleasant's  words,  "  you  are  a  very  young 
man,  and  I  am  old  enough  to  be  your  father." 

It  would  have  been  impossible  to  dispute  this  proposi- 
tion, and  Pleasant  had  no  desire  to  try,  so  he  sat  waiting 
for  what  was  to  follow. 

"  And  so  I  want  to  take  the  liberty  of  speaking  to  you 
very  freely,  and  to  ask  you  not  to  be  offended  or  dis- 
turbed. Oli !  I  know  that  you  are  quite  susceptible,  and 
I  ask  you  not  to  judge  hastily  anything  I  may  say,  and 
not  suddenly  to  reject  anything  I  may  propose." 


A   LOVING   STRATAGEM.  259 

A  gleam  of  suspicion  shot  into  Pleasant' s  great  black 
eyes.  "Have  our  opponents  in  the  land  matter  sent  a 
delegation  here,  Mr.  Harrelston  ?  Because  it  is  my  duty 
to  tell  you  at  once,  sir,  that  we  cannot  enter  into  any  com- 
promises, any  arrangements  of  any  kind  whatsoever,  with 
those  people.  That  is  entirely  out  of  the  question." 

Mr.  Harrelston  took  up  a  rosewood  ruler  lying  before 
him,  went  through  the  motions  of  executing  an  imaginary 
vengeance  upon  an  imaginary  fly,  laid  down  the  ruler,  then 
took  it  up  anew,  and  at  last  said,  frankly,  and  with  a  per- 
ceptible tremor  in  his  tones  — 

k '  It  is  not  about  business  that  I  wish  to  talk  with  you 
just  now.  It  is  something  much  more  grave,  much  more 
important  and  interesting.  It  is  about  saving  the  life  of 
a  young  girl." 

Pleasant  arose,  tossing  back  his  long  black  hair,  and 
breathing  quickly.  He  was  a  noble  figure,  as  he  stood 
erect  before  the  banker,  instinct  with  pulsating  life,  his 
deep  chest  heaving  with  emotion,  his  dark  eyes  gleaming, 
his  arms  slightly  raised  as  if  ready  to  grasp  a  weapon  with 
which  to  defend  every  one  committed  to  his  care.  The 
banker  looked  at  him  approvingly,  yet  it  cost  him  an  effort 
greater  than  any  except  himself  could  understand  to 
approve  the  young  man.  Before  he  had  sent  the  despatch 
to  Pleasant  in  Geneva  he  had  gone  through  a  mental 
struggle  which  had  revealed  to  him  depths  of  pride  never 
heretofore  fathomed  in  his  soul.  But  love  and  duty  had 
conquered.  He  was  all  frankness  now. 

"  The  life  of  a  young  girl !  "  repeated  Pleasant,  with  a 
vague  premonition  of  coming  sorrow. 

"  Of  one  who  is  very  dear  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Harrelston  ; 
"  dear  to  us  both,  I  think." 

Pleasant  could  not  believe  that  he  heard  aright.  He 
looked  earnestly,  almost  piteously,  at  the  banker,  mutely 
imploring  him  to  explain.  But  the  banker's  eyes  were 


260  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

dim  with  tears,  and  he  was  turning  his  face  away  to  hide 
his  honest  emotion.  At  last  the  Indian's  amazement  and 
suspense  and  fear  all  found  utterance  in  one  word,  and 
that  was  "Alice!  " 

The  banker  arose  and  laid  his  hand  on  Pleasant's 
shoulder.  "  Yes,  my  boy,"  he  said,  brokenly,  "Alice,  my 
daughter,  is  dangerously  ill ;  a  fever  seized  upon  her 
shortly  after  her  return  from  Switzerland,  and  for  a  while 
it  seemed  as  if  it  would  burn  her  young  life  out.  Stop  — 
listen  —  remember  —  Mr.  Merrinott  —  that  you  owe  me 
attention ' ' 

"Alice  ill,  in  danger  —  where  is  she?  Let  me  go  to 
her  at  once  !  "  said  the  Indian. 

"  But  listen  !  "  Mr.  Harrelston  felt  as  helpless  as  if  he 
were  trying  to  control  a  volcano ;  for  Pleasant,  wild  with 
anxiety,  was  likely  to  burst  through  all  restraint.  "  My 
daughter,  in  her  illness,  has  been  delirious ;  and  it  was  in 
watching  with  my  poor  wife  by  her  bedside  that  I  dis- 
covered something  which  I  need  not  tell  you  surprised  me 
very  much.  My  wife  had  told  me  of  your  appearance  at 
Meiringen,  of  your  visit  and  acquaintance  with  Alice  there, 
but  she  said  nothing  —  apparently  knew  nothing  to  indi- 
cate that  you  —  in  short,  that  you  had  completely  .won  my 
daughter's  affection  and  confidence  —  had  even  told  her  of 
your  professed  love  for  her,  and  then  had  unaccountably 
and  hurriedly  left  her,  nor  spoken  nor  written  a  word  to 
her  since  !  Confound  it,  sir !  it  makes  my  blood  boil  to 
think  what  pain  you  have  given.  There,  I  don't  mean  that. 
I  don't  know  what  I  mean  —  or  —  yes,  I  do  know  only  too 
well ;  I  know  that  whatever  you  have  done,  whatever  you 
have  not  done,  your  presence  here,  and  near  my  poor  child, 
is  indispensable  now,  and  so  I  have  sent  for  you.  I  have 
told  you  enough  to  enable  you  to  explain  yourself ;  I  have 
humbled  myself  because  —  because  I  believed  that  by  so 
doing  I  could  save  my  daughter's  life  and  prevent  her 


A  LOVING   STRATAGEM.  261 

happiness  from  being  wrecked.  And  now,  sir,  —  come, 
sir  —  speak  out  —  explain.  What  have  you  done?  what 
have  you  failed  to  do?  what  sent  you  to  Meiringen?  what 
do  you  mean  to  do  ?  " 

Pleasant  sat  down,  looking  the  banker  squarely  in  the 
face.  He  saw  that  Mr.  Harrelston  was  far  from  pleased 
with  the  discovery  which  he  had  made  ;  but  he  was  so 
overjoyed  at  the  revelation  that  Alice  loved  him  —  that  she 
had  expected  him  to  come  to  her  to  tell  her  again  of  his 
love  —  that  he  could  scarcely  contain  his  exultation.  Where 
was  now  his  firm  resolve  to  perish  under  the  weight  of 
self-inflicted  woe  rather  than  to  swerve  from  his  deter- 
mination to  be  faithful  to  his  race  ?  Where  were  all  the 
impassioned  resolutions  made  beside  the  racing  waters  of 
the  Aar,  at  Berne,  on  the  morning  after  those  delicious 
moments  with  Alice  in  the  garden  ?  They  had  vanished  ; 
and  he  was  aghast  at  the  wrong  which  he  had  done  to  the 
sweet  girl  who  had  accepted  his  adoration  and  his  love, 
and  had  unhesitatingly  given  her  own  in  return. 

"  Promise  me  that  you  will  let  me  see  her — be  near  her 
once  more,"  he  said,  in  entreating  tones. 

"  I  believe  it  is  my  duty  to  do  so,"  said  Mr.  Harrelston, 
who  was  now  a  little  calmer.  "Why,  Mr.  Merrinott,  I 
almost  believe  that  her  life  depends  on  it !  Perhaps 
I  have  done  wrong,  but  for  the  moment  it  seems  to  me 
that  I  have  done  the  only  thing  that  was  possible." 

"Mr.  Harrelston,"  said  the  young  man,  bending  his 
head  a  little  forward,  and  casting  down  his  eyes,  "  I  have 
been  a  fool." 

The  banker  looked  relieved,  after  Pleasant  had  made 
this  confession.  It  soothed  his  wounded  pride  a  bit  to 
believe  that  this  strange,  impulsive  youth* had,  in  his  in- 
experience, and  influenced  by  brooding  over  the  wrongs  of 
his  race,  done  or  said  something  foolish,  to  which  Alice's 
distress  of  mind  mi°;ht  be  attributed.  It  was  because  he 


262  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

had  recognized  in  Pleasant,  the  first  times  that  he  had  ever 
seen  him,  one  so  original,  so  removed  from  the  ordinary 
methods  of  thought  and  habits  of  men  of  his  age,  that 
he  had  now  decided  to  call  upon  him  for  an  explanation. 
The  banker  had  not  told  his  wife  of  this  decision ;  on 
the  contrary,  he  had  roundly  scolded  her  for  allowing  the 
romantic  young  Indian  to  come  across  the  path  of  the 
unworldly  and  generous  Alice,  and  had  hinted  that  he 
considered  Pleasant  little  better  than  an  adventurer.  Then 
he  had  undertaken  the  experiment  of  summoning  Pleasant 
to  Paris,  and  was  about  to  appeal  to  the  youth  to  do  all 
that  he  could  to  save  Alice  from  the  illness  which  was 
evidently  the  fruit  of  a  sudden  secret  sorrow,  when 
Pleasant  met  him  more  than  half-way  by  volunteering  his 
confession,  and  prefacing  it  by  the  frank  statement  that 
he  had  been  a  fool. 

"  When  I  came  to  your  hotel  in  Interlaken,  for  the 
first  time,  on  business,"  continued  Pleasant,  "  I  saw  your 
daughter.  She  was  standing  in  a  corner,  with  her  hands 
filled  with  flowers,  and  I  thought  she  was  the  most 
beautiful  creature  that  I  had  ever  seen.  But  it  was  not 

her  beauty  that  impressed  me.     It  was  —  it  was  as  if ' ' 

said  the  young  man,  struggling  tim'dly  for  the  choice 
of  an  expression,  "  as  if  her  face  had  been  printed  on  my 
heart.  Well,  Mr.  Ilarrelston,  I  reckon  I'm  not  exactly 
like  other  folks  —  I  couldn't  rest  until  I  had  seen  her  again  ; 
and  I  think  you  have  found  out  by  this  time  that,  as  soon 
as  I  could,  I  went  to  Meiringen  because  she  was  there, 
and  because  I  wished  to  be  near  her.  Well,  sir,  I  stayed 
there  until  I  got  news  which  I  thought  made  it  necessary 
for  me  to  return  to  the  Nation  as  fast  as  I  could  go. 
I  told  her  of  th&  unjust  and  cruel  way  in  which  our  people 
were  treated,  and  she  —  well,  sir,  I  think  she  approved  of 
my  resolutions,  and  she  gave  me  plenty  of  advice.  Why, 
Mr.  Harrelston.  your  daughter  was  the  first  person  that 


A  LOVING   STRATAGEM.  263 

ever  sympathized  with  me !  It  was  like  she  knew  my 
thoughts  before  I  could  put  them  into  words." 

"  O  mischievous  Sympathy  !  "  thought  Mr.  Harrelston, 
"  are  you  not  always  the  forerunner  of  Love?  " 

"And  then,  sir,  then  I  went  away,  and  I  might  as  well 
tell  you  that  I  had  a  big  fight  with  myself  not  to  tell  her 
that  I  loved  her.  Oh  !  it  was  all  so  sudden  and  mysterious 
like,  that  I  think,  sir,  if  you  had  been  in  my  place  you 
would  yourself  have  been  puzzled  to  know  what  to  do. 
But  it  happened  that  I  was  delayed  in  Berne,  sir,  and 
that  she  came  there,  on  her  way  to  Paris.  There  I  told 
her  of  my  love,  and,  sir  —  she  —  well,  sir,  I  believe  she 
listened." 

Mr.  Harrelston  was  very  uneasy,  but  he  had  courted 
this  ordeal,  and  must  now  go  through  it. 

' '  And  now  we  come  to  the  time  when  I  was  a  fool.  I 
had  no  sooner  told  her  that  I  loved  her  than  I  decided 
that  it  was  my  duty  to  live  for  my  people  —  my  poor, 
despised,  down-trodden  Indians  —  to  be  of  them,  to  live 
with  them,  and  neither  to  love  nor  to  marry  outside  my 
own  race.  This  conviction  preyed  on  me  so  that  I  gave 
everything  up  to  it,  surrendered  my  heart  —  my  soul  — 
my  love  —  my  future  !  ' ' 

Xk  Dreamer  !  enthusiast !  "  murmured  Mr.  Harrelston  in 
his  native  German,  which  he  always  used  when  strongly 
excited.  But  his  voice  was  so  low  that  Pleasant  did  not 
hear  him. 

"  I  was  a  brute  —  a  fool !  I  did  not  know  —  as  I  know 
now  —  that  love  is  worth  more  than  everything  else  in  the 
world  ;  worth  more  than  race,  or  country,  or  home,  or 
friends  ;  often  stronger  than  duty.  I  did  not  know  how  I 
should  suffer  in  the  next  miserable  ten  days  after  I  had 
made  my  resolve  ;  nor  what  trouble  I  was  bringing  on  — 
on  Alice.  Oh,  tell  me  what  I  can  do  !  what  punishment  I 
can  bring  to  bear  on  myself !  what  —  when  I  can  see  her?  " 


264  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

He  sprang  up,  and  began  pacing  the  floor.  Mr.  Harrel- 
ston  sank  down  into  his  chair,  and  mopped  his  flushed 
brow  vigorously  with  his  handkerchief. 

"  Not  a  word  more,  my  boy  —  not  now,  while  you  are 
so  —  so  excitable.  I  have  heard  enough  to  convince  me 
that  I  have  not  much  with  which  to  reproach  you.  I  hope 
you  don't  think  it  is  without  misgivings  that  I  have  —  have 
spoken  to  you  about  these  delirious  confessions  of  my  poor 
child  —  or  that  I  would  have  summoned  you  here  unless  I 
had  felt  it  absolutely  necessary.  You  say  you  have  been 
a  fool.  Mr.  Merrinott,  that  is  a  harsh  word  —  and  after 
you  have  really  been  a  fool  two  or  three  times  you  will  not 
be  so  anxious  to  acknowledge  it.  But  you  have  acted  in 

a  most  —  most ' '  Mr.  Harrelston  indulged  in  another 

imaginary  immolation  of  another  imaginary  fly  with  his 
ruler.  "  Well,  never  mind  that.  This  is  what  I  propose. 
I  appeal  to  you,  without  making  any  promises  for  the 
future,  or  any  criticisms  on  the  past,  to  help  me  save  my 
child.  She  was  a  little  better  to-day ;  it  is  only  at  night 
that  the  delirium  sets  in.  The  fever  is  soon  to  turn.  Now, 
I  have  reason  to  think  that  if  Alice  knows  that  you  have 
come  to  Paris,  have  been  at  our  house,  have  —  have  ceased 
being  —  as  you  call  yourself  —  a  fool,  it  will  save  her  from 
further  danger ;  and  if  she  is  to  recover  —  will  greatly  aid 
her  recovery.  I  am  sure  I  cannot  say  more." 

"  I  will  do  anything — everything  that  you  wish,"  cried 
Pleasant,  so  loudly  that  the  banker  placed  his  finger  on  his 
lips,  and  pointed  in  the  direction  of  the  next  room.  ' '  Only 
let  me  see  her  once  more,  and  beg  her  pardon,  and  tell  her 
how  I  regret  my  folly,  and  how  I  will  try  to  atone  for  it !  " 

"  Let  the  future  take  care  of  itself,"  said  Mr.  Harrel- 
ston. lie  did  not  like  to  think  too  much  of  it,  and  of 
Pleasant's  new  relations  to  Alice.  His  whole  attention 
was  concentrated  on  saving  his  child  ;  after  that  was  done 
the  rest  could  be  thought  of. 


A  LOVING   STEATAGEM.  265 

"I  shall  not  sleep  until  I  have  seen  Alice,"  said  the 
Indian. 

"We  shall  see  what  to-morrow  can  do  for  her,"  said 
the  banker.  "  When  she  is  quiet  and  in  her  perfect  mind 
in  the  morning,  I  mean  to  tell  her  that  you  have  come ; 
that  you  have  been  unavoidably  kept  in  Switzerland.  I 
mean  to  explain  away  the  fact ' ' 

"  That  I  have  been  a  fool." 

"And  then  —  why,  then,  let  love  and  nature  do  the 
rest.  Come  back  here  at  five,  Mr.  Merrinott ;  my  carriage 
will  be  here,  and  we  will  drive  to  my  house  and  dine 
together.  It  will  be  better  so.  I  will  not  disguise  from 
you  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Harrelston  is  inclined  to  be  angry 
with  you,  and  so  I  must  take  you  home  with  me  this  first 
time  and  explain  what  I  mean  to  do.  As  for  seeing 
Alice,  that  will  be  out  of  the  question  for  you  until  she  is 
much  better." 

Pleasant  wrung  Mr.  Harrelston's  hand  and  went  away, 
promising  to  return  exactly  at  the  appointed  hour.  After 
Mr.  Harrelston  had  seen  him  out  of  the  office  he  sat  alone 
for  a  few  minutes  before  he  called  his  secretaries  back. 

"  They  say  the  course  of  true  love  never  does  run 
smooth,"  mused  the  banker,  "  but  it  runs  with  swiftness. 
Why,  all  these  things  have  happened  in  a  few  weeks. 

Well,  the  Indian  is  honest  —  and —  and '  He  rang 

the  bell  for  his  men,  and  they  came  back  to  be  so  pressed 
by  him  for  an  hour  that  letters  lay  scattered  around  them 
like  leaves  about  a  tree  over  which  an  autumn  wind  had 
passed. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

AN   ALLIANCE    FOR   INFORMATION. 

"  IT'S  thoroughly  vexatious,  Miss  Merlin,  that's  what  it 
is !  "  said  Colonel  Cliff,  bringing  his  gloved  hand  down 
with  considerable  force  upon  the  pile  of  music  sheets 
before  which  he  was  standing.  "  It  annoys  me  more 
than  I  can  tell  you,  and  I  know  there  is  not  the  slightest 
use  in  trying  to  conceal  my  annoyance." 

u  Souvent  femme  varie,"  sang  Caro,  sweetly,  looking 
at  the  piano  keys.  She  knew  that  the  Colonel  would  in- 
stantly cease  the  confession  of  his  feelings  if  she  offered 
him  any  advice  just  then. 

"  The  servants  are  as  mysterious,  and  the  house  is  as 
inaccessible  to  me  as  if  I  were  a  complete  stranger  to  the 
Harrelstons.  All  I  can  learn  is  that  Alice  is  somewhat 
better,  but  the  old  dragon  that  guards  the  hall  door 
always  finds  some  excuse  for  not  letting  me  in,  and  I  am 
sure  that  she  has  carefully  concealed  my  cards  —  and  — 
and  —  the  flowers  that  I  have  sent."  The  Colonel  bit 
his  moustache,  coloured  a  little,  drummed  on  the  music 
sheets,  and  continued,  "  Yet  the  Indian  goes  there  every 
day;  —  he  is  received,  and  makes  himself  very  much  at 
home,  I  suppose." 

Caro  looked  up  with  real  surprise  on  her  face.  "  Mr. 
Merrinott  goes  there?  Are  you  sure?" 


AN   ALLIANCE  FOR   INFORMATION.  267 

"I  wish  I  were  not,"  said  the  Colonel,  ruefully.  "I 
can't  imagine  what  I  have  done  that  I  should  be  excluded 
when  he  is  received.  It  cannot  be  possible  that  I  have 
unwittingly  offended  Mrs.  Harrelstou.  Can  it?  Can  you 
tell  me  ?  ' ' 

"  Oh  no  !     I  think  that  is  quite  out  of  the  question." 

••Well,  I  don't  know  what  to  think.  I  went  to  the 
hotel  where  the  Indian  was  supposed  to  be  staying,  but 
he  had  gone  from  there  without  leaving  his  address.  I 
went  to  the  bank  half  a  dozen  times,  but  Mr.  Harrelstou 
was  never  in.  And  so,  do  you  know,  Miss  Merlin,  I 
came  to  see  if  I  can  get  you  to  find  out  for  me  what  it 
all  means.  Will  you  not  see  them  —  see  Alice  and  her 
mother  —  and  discover  why  I  am  forbidden  the  gates  ?  I 
am  tired  of  feeling  as  —  as  Adam  did  after  he  was  turned 
out  of  Paradise.  I  want  to  get  back  as  soon  as  I  can." 

Caro  left  the  piano  and  sat  down  in  the  old  arm-chair. 
She  was  thinking  how  odd  it  was  that  the  Colonel  should 
have  come  to  ask  her  a  favour  just  at  the  time  when  she 
needed  his  service. 

"Do  sit  down,  Colonel  Cliff,"  she  said,  with  a  smile. 
"You  look  nervous,  standing  there  as  if  you  were  on 
guard." 

"  I  feel  nervous." 

"And  I  am  sure  that  you  are  worrying  yourself  in 
vain.  There  can  be  no  reason  why  you  should  not  be 
received  by  the  Harrelstons,  if  they  were  receiving  any 
one.  Do  you  not  think  that  you  are  mistaken  about  the 
Indian?" 

"  Not  at  all.  His  coppery  face  is  seen  at  the  Harrel- 
stons' every  day." 

"  But  how  do  you  know  that?  " 

"Well,"  said  the  Colonel,  after  a  moment's  pause, 
"if  you  must  know,  I  watched,  and  I  found  it  out  for 
myself ! ' ' 


268  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

Caro  laughed  merrily.  "Oh,  Colonel,  Colonel!  It  is 
time  3'ou  had  a  feminine  ally.  Your  case  is  indeed  des- 
perate !  And  what  shall  I  say  to  our  gentle  Alice,  if  I 
succeed  in  seeing  her  ?  I  will  venture  to  assert  one  thing, 
and  that  is  that  she  has  not  seen  Mr.  Merrinott's  coppery 
face  yet.  I  think  Mrs.  Harrelston  would  take  good  care 
of  that." 

"  Oh  yes,  she  has  seen  him  ;  I  am  sure  she  has  !  "  said 
the  Colonel,  uneasily.  "  And  what  she  finds  to  admire 
in  that  unkempt  son  of  the  forest  I  cannot  see.  His  little 
peep  at  civilized  society  does  not  seem  to  have  communi- 
cated the  smallest  polish  to  his  manners.  But  you  will  see 
them?  You  will  find  out  all  about  it,  will  you  not?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you  my  impressions  after  I  have  seen  Alice 
and  her  mother,"  said  Caro.  "What  shall  I  say  to 
Alice?" 

"  Say  —  say  how  distressed  I  have  been  at  the  thought 
of  her  illness,  and  —  and  —  you  needn't  tell  her,  Miss 
Caro,  that  I  adore  her,  for  I  suspect  she  has  found  that 
out  by  this  time.  And  that  must  be  the  reason  why  she 
so  carefully  avoids  seeing  me." 

"  I  think  you  misjudge  Alice.  She  is  too  frank  —  too 
kind  to  —  to  avoid  any  one  or  to  allow  auy  misunderstand- 
ing. And  I  believe,  Colonel,"  she  added,  with  a  faint 
gleam  of  mischief  in  her  great  blue  eyes,  "  that  you 
exaggerate  the  importance  of  Mr.  Pleasant  Merriuott's 
visits  to  the  garden  of  Eden  from  which  you  are  just  now 
shut  out.  Ma  has  chosen  this  afternoon  for  a  calling 
expedition,  and  we  will  manage  to  see  the  Harrelstons  be- 
fore we  come  home.  So  to-morrow  morning  I  shall  have 
something  to  tell  you.  Come  early,  for  Melari  and  —  and 
Stanislas  arc  both  coming  at  eleven,  aud  you  know  I  must 
not  lose  a  moment  of  their  training  and  advice.  And  now, 
Colonel,  I  want  to  ask  you  to  promise  me  something." 

The   gallaut   Colonel   held    up   his    right    hand.      "  I 


AN   ALLIANCE  FOR   INFORMATION.  269 

promise,"  he  said,  looking  down  with  a  kindly  smile  at 
the  slight,  pale  girl  shrinking  into  the  depths  of  the  arm- 
chair. "  What  is  it?  Shall  I  cut  off  my  head?  Shall  I 
beard  Mapleson  or  Gye  for  you?  Shall  I  ask  Gounod  to 
write  you  a  new  opera?  Command  me." 

"Colonel,"  said  Caro,  in  a  husky  voice,  and  looking 
away  from  him,  and  up  at  the  great  curtain  drawn  across 
the  capacious  window,  "  do  you  remember  speaking, 
when  you  were  here  some  eight  or  nine  days  ago,  just 
after  your  return  from  Spain,  about  the  sister  of  Mr. 
Stanislas?  You  do.  Now,  what  did  you  mean?  No; 
that  is  not  what  I  wish  to  ask.  Did  you  ever  hear  any- 
thing to  prove  that  the  lady  is  not  his  sister?  And  if 
you  know,  no  matter  what,  to  prove  that  she  is  not  his 
sister,  I  want  you  to  tell  me,  because  —  I  — have  —  very 
grave  reasons  for  wishing  to  know." 

The  Colonel  was  troubled.  He  retreated  from  his  en- 
trenchments behind  the  pile  of  music,  and  sat  down. 

"  I  don't  know  exactly  how  to  answer  that,  Miss  Mer- 
lin," he  said. 

"  Ah  !  then  there  is  a  doubt,"  said  the  girl,  fiercely. 

There  was  a  revelation  in  her  tone.  Colonel  Cliff  un- 
derstood the  situation  at  once,  and  deeply  regretted  that 
the  subject  had  been  introduced. 

"The  lady  has  arrived  in  town,  I  believe,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  she  has,"  said  Caro.  "And  she  called  here 
yesterday.  Oh,  we  had  quite  a  visit.  She  is  very  enthu- 
siastic. Are  all  women  of  her  race  as  much  in  earnest  as 
she  seems  to  be  ?  " 

"  In  earnest?  "  queried  the  Colonel;  "  what  was  she 
earnest  about?  " 

"Oh,  grand  human  ideas  and  —  and  things.  She 
doesn't  seem  to  care  at  all  for  art  and  music.  I  suppose 
they  are  not  earnest  enough  for  her.  Ma  says  she  thinks 
she'd  make  a  good  revolutionist !  " 


270  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

"Ah!  "  cried  the  Colonel,  jumping  up  and  beginning 
to  pace  to  and  fro;  "}rour  mother  has  hit  it,  as  usual. 
Trust  her  to  get  at  the  truth,  every  time." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Colonel?  "  said  Caro,  over  whose 
face  an  expression  of  fear  and  doubt  was  slowly  stealing. 
Finding  that  he  did  not  answer  at  once,  she  arose  and 
came  toward  him.  "Colonel  Cliff!"  she  cried,  "you 
know  something  about  that  woman  that  you  are  not 
willing  to  tell  me  !  Now,  listen  !  I  must  know  it !  No 
matter  how  dreadful  it  may  be,  you  may  tell  me.  I  have 
a  right  to  know  whether ' ' 

"  My  dear  Miss  Merlin  !  "  said  the  Colonel,  "  I  assure 
3'ou  that  all  that  I  know  about  the  lady  is  not  so  very 
alarming  as  JTOU  imagine." 

44  Well,  what  is  it !     Why  don't  you  tell  me?  " 

Caro  stamped  one  foot,  although  she  was  determined  to 
be  calm.  The  Colonel  began  to  believe  that  if  he  desired 
to  retain  the  influential  co-operation  of  Miss  Caro,  in  his 
endeavours  to  find  his  way  back  to  the  Harrelstons',  he 
must  forthwith  tell  what  he  knew  about  Vera. 

"It  is  simply  this  :  I  have  found  out,  but  I  cannot  tell 
you,  and  you  must  not  ask  me  how  —  that  this  interesting 
young  Vera  is  one  of  the  leading  spirits  in  the  great 
Nihilist  conspiracy." 

"  Nihilist !  What's  that?  How  strange  !  "  said  Caro, 
all  in  one  breath. 

41  Nihilists  are  eccentric  people  who  wish  to  destroy 
society  and  governments  because  they  think  them  hope- 
lessly corrupt,  and  who  take  very  radical  means  to  accom- 
plish their  wishes,"  said  the  Colonel. 

Caro  felt  as  if  a  load  had  been  lifted  from  her  heart. 
Her  first  thought  —  full  of  charity  for  the  beloved  Stanislas 
—  was  that  he  was  annoyed  and  embarrassed  by  the 
eccentricities  of  his  sister,  and  that  for  that  reason  he 
had  not  mentioned  her  relationship  to  him  until  he  was 


AN   ALLIANCE  FOR   INFORMATION.  271 

compelled  to  do  so.  She  retired  into  the  armchair  once 
more. 

' '  Oh !  is  that  all  ?  "  she  said ,  toying  with  the  ribbon 
at  her  neck.  "  And  if  I  see  Alice  to-day  am  I  at  liberty 
to  tell  her  this  about  —  about  Mademoiselle  Vera  ?  Because 

I  —  I  am  afraid  that  we  were  in  some  doubt .  She 

must  be  the  sister  of  the  musician,  must  she  not?  " 

"Well,"  answered  the  Colonel,  "  speaking  frankly,  I 
am  bound  to  say  that  I  do  not  think  she  is  —  that,  in  fact, 
I  am  convinced  that  she  is  not." 

' '  And  who  has  led  you  to  form  this  opinion  ?  ' ' 

The  Colonel  was  on  the  point  of  replying  to  this  —  so 
Caro  thought  —  with  a  person's  name;  but  he  reflected, 
and  presently  he  said  — 

"  I  must  ask  you  to  excuse  me  fi-om  telling  you  that." 

"  What  mystery  !  Colonel,  do  you  think  Mademoiselle 
Vera  is  an  improper  person  for  me  —  for  us  —  to  know?  " 

"  No,  I  do  not.  I  think  that,  aside  from  her  political 
vagaries,  she  is  a  very  worthy  young  woman." 

"  But  what  can  Mr.  Stanislas  —  what  interest Is 

he  —  a  conspirator  —  too  ?  ' ' 

"  Now  we  have  come  to  the  point  where  I  am  entirely 
puzzled,"  said  the  Colonel,  and  he  told  the  exact  truth. 
His  sudden  discovery  of  Caro's  adoration  for  the  musician 
had  sealed  his  lips  for  many  things  which  he  had  at  first 
thought  of  mentioning  to  her.  'k  Perhaps,"  he  added,  "  it 
will  be  well  not  to  speak  to  any  one  else  of  this  conversa- 
tion for  a  day  or  two.  I  suppose  it  would  interest  you  to 
know  exactly  who  and  what  Mademoiselle  Vera  is  —  if  I 
should  happen  to  find  out." 

"•  I  should  be  glad  to  know  all  that  is  proper  for  me  to 
know,"  said  the  girl ;  but  the  Colonel  remarked  that  the 
keenness  of  her  interest  appeared  to  have  vanished. 

Caro  had  jumped  at  a  conclusion  which  set  her  mind 
at  rest,  and  which  substituted  a  kind  of  compassion  for 


272  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

Vera  for  the  fierce  jealousy  which  she  had  at  first  felt. 
Vera  was  a  conspirator,  and  Stanislas,  her  countryman,  and 
perhaps  secretly  a  sympathizer,  was  shielding  the  woman's 
plans  beneath  the  goodly  aegis  of  his  renowned  name.  But 
was  he  not  in  danger  in  so  doing?  Why  need  he  mar  his 
brilliant  future  by  meddling  with  conspiracy  ?  Or  no  —  it 
was  delicious  to  be  beloved  by  one  who  was  bold  enough 
to  conspire  —  humane  enough  to  aid  those  who  conspired. 
She  would  not  doubt  him. 

"Yes,  Colonel,  you  are  right:"  she  said,  "we  must 
not  speak  of  these  things  to  any  one  else.  Above  all,  not 
to  ma.  Ma  wouldn't  understand  them,  and  you  know  that 
she  is  imprudent  as ' ' 

Caro's  voice  sank  into  a  whisper,  for  at  that  moment 
Mrs.  Merlin's  worn  face  appeared  at  the  top  of  the  winding 
stairs,  and  her  thin,  sharp  voice  said  — 

"  What  is  it  that  your  ma  wouldn't  understand, 
daughter?  Colonel,  I'm  always  glad  to  see  you  here,  for 
I  know  you  can  give  Caro  some  good  advice.  She  needs 
it,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  She  needs  it  less,  Mrs.  Merlin,  than  most  young  ladies 
whom  I  have  the  honour  of  knowing." 

"  Wai,  I  dunno,"  said  the  old  lady,  settling  back  into 
a  chair  and  untying  her  bonnet-strings  ;  "  I  dunno.  Sence 
she's  undertook  to  make  her  debew  this  fall,  seems  to  me 
she  don't  think  any  one  can  tell  her  anything." 

"  So  you  have  found  an  occasion  for  making  your  dtbut, 
Miss  Merlin?  And  so  soon  !  Allow  me  to  congratulate 
you  most  heartily.  And  how  and  when  is  it  to  be?  In 
an  opera,  a  concert,  a  church  festival,  or " 

He  held  out  both  hands  to  Caro,  who  smiled  and  took 
them  for  a  moment,  then  dropped  them,  and  turned  away 
with  :i  sigh  so  doleful  that  her  mother  looked  at  her  with 
a  pained  expression,  and  the  Colonel  could  scarcely  conceal 
his  surprise. 


AN  ALLIANCE  FOR   INFORMATION.  273 

"  Are  you  not  glad  that  the  moment  of  triumph  is 
approaching?"  he  said.  "I  am  sure  it  will  be  a  great 
success.  Melari  says  so ;  Stanislas  says  so ;  and  even 
j'our  rivals  say  so.  We  will  all  do  our  best  to  make  the 
occasion  as  brilliant  as  possible.  I  pledge  myself  to  make 
every  young  woman  who  is  envious  of  you  take  tickets." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Mrs.  Merlin,  "  the  hull  house  '11 
be  full.  There 's  about  seventeen  dozen  young  creatures 
from  all  parts  of  America  jest  literally  burstin'  with  envy 
sence  Stanislas  prophesied  that  Caro  would  make  her  for- 
tune on  the  stage.  I  should  feel  perfectly  comfortable 
about  her  chances,  Colonel,  if  she  didn't  give  way  to 
such  clretful  fits  of  discouragement."  And  the  good  soul, 
hearing  the  servant  below  discussing  in  an  angry  tone  of 
voice  with  some  intruder  in  the  garden,  went  down  to 
impose  her  authority. 

"Oh,  Colonel  Cliff,"  said  Caro,  "it  would  cut  me  to 
the  heart  to  disappoint  you  all ;  but  I  have  a  presentiment 
of  failure.  I  cannot  describe  it  to  you  ;  it  is  terrible.  I 
accepted  this  opportunity  for  a  ddbut  that  has  been  offered 
through  the  kindness  of  Mclari  and  —  and  Mr.  Stanislas, 
just  out  of  sheer  determination  not  to  be  frightened  by 
these  dismal  forebodings.  It  is  a  concert  to  be  given  at 
the  Italiens,  on  the  first  of  November.  La  Vange  has 
consented  to  reappear  on  that  occasion,  after  an  absence 
of  fifteen  years  from  the  stage,  and  she  will  be  greeted, 
out  of  respect  for  her  career,  by  the  most  refined  and 
critical  audience  that  can  be  assembled  in  Paris.  Melari 
says  that  the  success  of  a  debutante  before  such  an 
audience  would  be  a  passport  to  immediate  celebrity  — 
those  were  his  words.  Well,  that  is  not  the  best  of  it. 
Maplesou  has,  it  seems,  promised  to  attend  this  concert, 
and  when  he  heard  that  I  was  to  sing  there,  he  said  to 
Stanislas,  '  If  she  is  a  success  there,  I  will,  after  all  that 
you  and  others  have  said  of  her,  give  her  an  engagement, 


274  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

and  she  shall  make  her  first  appearance  in  opera  in  Lon- 
don in  the  first  week  of  the  spring  season.'  Oh,  Colonel, 
when  I  think  what  joy  it  would  be  for  me  to  sing  Mar- 
gherita  in  '  Faust '  at  the  Grand  Opera  in  London,  my 
head  turns  around,  and  I  say,  '  I  will  not  fail  at  this 
coming  concert !  I  will  make  the  Parisians  like  me ! ' 
But  then  the  terrible  presentiment  returns  —  a  kind  of 
feeling  that  my  failure  will  be  due  to  some  cause  beyond 
my  control  —  and  I  tremble." 

"No;  you  will  not  fail,"  said  the  Colonel,  looking 
down  admiringly  at  Caro's  enthusiastic  face,  lit  up  by 
the  brilliant  blue  eyes.  "  Beware  of  the  demon  of  over- 
work, Miss  Caro ;  he  is  inflicting  all  this  misery  on  you 
just  now.  Beware  of  worries,  even" — he  lowered  his 
voice  —  ' '  even  about  the  mysterious  Mademoiselle  Vera  — 
and  3'ou  will  come  out  of  your  trial  triumphantly." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  Caro,  with  another  sigh  ;  "  but  still 
I  tremble." 

"  You  .have  the  vocation,  Miss  Merlin.  You  will  win. 
But  I  must  confess  that  it  is  a  strange  lottery  in  which 
our  American  girls  risk  their  chances  for  a  prize,  aud  that 
the  blanks  are  wonderfully  numerous." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  girl,  mournfully,  "  I  know  of  a  dozen 
failures  within  the  range  of  our  acquaintance  in  the  last 
eighteen  months.  Trust  me  for  one  thing,  Colonel  Cliff ! 
If  I  fail,  you  will  sec  me  take  the  road  for  seclusion  in 
Illinois  at  once.  I  shall  shudder  at  the  thought  of  going 
through  a  series  of  failures  in  Paris  and  London,  and  then 
rushing  off  to  appear  in  some  cheap  theatre  in  a  provin- 
cial tov.ii  in  Italy,  and  to  pay  the  local  papers  to  publish 
long  bombastic  accounts  of  my  'splendid  promise,'  and 
my  kp"rif(t  accent,'  and  my  'impassioned  acting,'  as 
Lottie  Kldivdgc  did  a  year  ago." 

''  Poor  things  !  "  said  the  Colonel,  with  a  smile.  "  When 
they  do  get  the  craze  it  seems  impossible  for  them  to 


AN  ALLIANCE   FOR   INFORMATION.  275 

recover.  I  knew  a  case  not  long  ago  of  a  young  American 
lady  who  was  announced  as  about  to  make  her  debut  for 
a  third  time,  under  a  new  trademark  —  I  beg  your  pardon, 
I  mean  under  a  new  name.  Her  real  name  was  Scolley 
when  ehe  reached  Paris  from  the  United  States.  When 
she  hoped  to  make  her  success  here  she  became  Made- 
moiselle Scolet.  When  she  failed  here  she  went  to  Milan, 
and,  thanks  to  her  father's  ducats,  had  a  chance  to  fail 
there  under  the  name  of  Signora  Scollini.  And  now  she 
is  announced  as  Signorina  Scolletini,  from  the  theatre  in 
Bari,  with  an  immense  voice  and  a  still  greater  reputation, 
and  she  is  soon  going  home  to  rob  the  world  of  rest !  " 

"Colonel,  you  set  my  teeth  on  edge,"  said  the  girl. 
"Tell  me  no  more,  or  I  will  give  up  my  prospect  of  an 
appearance  at  La  Vauge's  concert." 

"The  failures  are  absurd  enough,"  said  the  Colonel, 
"  and  certainly  they  make  the  judicious  grieve.  But  then 
look  at  the  successes  !  Look  at  that  conscientious,  hard- 
working g'ul,  almost  superhuman  in  her  powers  of 
concentration  upon  her  coveted  object  —  Miss  Griswold, 
who  has  just  come  off  with  the  first  honours  ?.t  the 
Conservatoire  here,  and  who  will  certainly  be  engaged 
at  the  Grand  Opera.  There  is  national  glory  enough 
for  us  in  her  triumph  to  make  us  forget  the  multitudes 
of  ridiculous  failures  made  by  American  girls  every  year. 
She  had  the  vocation  ;  you  have  it ;  and  you  will  succeed 
—  as  she  did  —  because  you  deserve  success.  Personally, 
you  know,"  and  here  the  good  Colonel  took  on  what 
his  friends  called  ' '  his  English  air  ' ' —  that  boinp;  an 
affectation  of  a  certain  dense  indifference  to  thinrja  in 
general  —  "  personally,  I  consider  music  as  a  trivial  I; ranch 
of  the  art  of  expression." 

Caro's  eyes  blazed  now  with  fires  of  contradiction. 
The  Colonel  had  effected  his  object.  He  wished  to  stir 
her  pride,  besides  which  he  well  knew  that  at  that 


276  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

particular  moment  those  two  lovely  twin  qualities  —  her 
courage  and  her  enthusiasm  —  were  slumbering.  "  When 
those  are  well  aroused,  she  will  not  fail !  "  reasoned  the 
good  Colonel,  and  he  went  on  — 

"  As  a  trivial  branch  of  the  art  of  expression."  This 
was  highly  vague ;  yet  he  thought  it  would  do.  "  But 
when  I  look  about  me  and  see  that  Saint  Cecilia's  chief 
ministrants  before  the  most  renowned  of  her  European 
shrines  are  American  women,  it  wakes  up  my  pride. 
Think  of  Griswold  at  the  Academic  Nationale  de  Musique, 
and  delightful  Mignon  Van  Landt  at  the  Opera  Comique 
in  Paris,  and  the  polished  Kellogg  —  ah !  a  great  singer, 
and  good  as  great !  —  throwing  the  Russians  into  ecstasies 
with  her  delicious  voice  at  the  Petersburg  Opera  ?  And 
then  think  of  Miss  Thursby,  who  has  got  laurel  wreaths 
from  every  European  capital,  and  whose  voice  makes 
Mozart  rustle  in  his  tomb  with  joy ;  and  Mrs.  Osgood 
in  London,  who  chants  a  madrigal  so  that  it  makes  your 
heart  ache  with  bliss ;  and  —  and  I  might  name  many 
others.  Those,  Miss  Merlin  —  those  are  the  successes! 
Think  of  them,  and  say  to  yourself  —  I  shall  be  among 
them,  and  you  cannot  fail." 

"If  you  say  another  word  about  all  those  fortunate 
women,"  said  Caro,  "  I  shall  be  envious.  How  grand  it 
would  be  to  succeed  —  to  live  like  them,  to  be  like  them  !  " 

"You  can  —  you  will.  And  now  I  must  go.  Do  not 
forget  my  cause  this  afternoon,  Miss  Merlin,  and  tell  me 
good  news  to-morrow,  or  I  shall  despair.  Good-bye  until 
morning !  "  And  he  seemed  to  melt  out  of  the  room  ;  at 
least,  Caro  thought  he  did,  because  before  he  went  down- 
stairs she  had  fallen  into  a  reverie  which  completely  shut 
her  out  from  the  surrounding  world. 

The  presentiment,  meantime,  lay  heavily  on  her  heart. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

CONVALESCENCE. 

ALICE  awoke  one  morning  at  dawn,  and  seeing  her  mother 
standing  patiently  at  her  bedside,  stretched  out  one  thin 
white  hand  and  laid  it  gently  on  the  good  lady's  arm. 
Mrs.  Harrelston  started  and  looked  at  her  daughter 
anxiously. 

"  I  feel,  petite  maman,"  said  the  girl,  faintly,  "  as  if  I 
were  beginning  to  live  again." 

Mrs.  Harrelston's  tears  testified  to  the  joy  which  this 
assurance  brought  her.  She  knelt  down  beside  Alice. 

"  You  must  be  quiet,  daughter,"  she  said.  "  You  have 
been  very  ill ;  and  now  that  you  are  beginning  to  recover, 
any  excitement  might  be  dangerous.  Sleep  some  more ; 
it  is  only  six  o'clock." 

"  Six  o'clock  morning,  or  evening,  mamma?  " 

"Morning,  child,"  answered  Mrs.  Harrelston,  with 
a  tremor  in  her  voice.  "  Oh  dear,  she  is  wandering 
again." 

"  No,  mamma,"  said  Alice  ;  "  I  know  what  I  am  saying, 
but  I  seem  to  have  lost  some  days  out  of  my  life.  Do  you 
know  I  woke  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  and  it  seemed 
to  me  as  if  I  had  come  back  from  a  long  journey.  Every- 
thing is  new,  and  strange,  and —  and  delicious.  Only  my 

—  head  is  so  heavy "  And  she  sighed.  Presently 

277 


278  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

she  added,  "  I  am  glad  it  is  morning.  Is  it  a  fine  day? 
I  thought  I  heard  the  sparrows  chirp  a  little  while  ago." 

"Chirp,  dear!  They  chatter!  Do  they  make  your 
poor  head  ache?  Shall  I  draw  the  bed-curtains?  " 

"  Oh  no,  mamma,  please  don't  do  that.  I  feel  as  if  I 

wanted  light,  and  air,  and  flowers,  and "  She  tried 

to  raise  her  head,  but  in  vain. 

Mrs.  Harrelston,  with  many  gentle  reproaches,  re- 
arranged the  pillows,  and  remained  kneeling,  so  that  she 
could  comfort  herself  with  the  spectacle  of  her  child's 
slow  but  certain  return  to  perfect  consciousness  and  sanity. 
She  was  obliged,  somewhat  against  her  will,  to  admit  that 
her  husband's  experiment,  odd  and  improper  as  it  had 
seemed  to  her  maternal  mind  when  he  had  undertaken  it, 
more  than  a  week  ago,  was  a  success.  From  the  moment 
that  Alice  had  been  told  of  the  arrival  in  Paris  of  Pleasant 
Merrinott,  and  that  he  had  called  and  inquired  for  her, 
the  fits  of  feverish  delirium  had  become  less  frequent,  and 
had  finally  ceased  altogether.  But  they  were  succeeded 
by  a  deep  and  overwhelming  prostration,  at  which  the 
girl's  parents  had  been  almost  as  gravely  alarmed  as  by 
the  delirious  symptoms,  until  the  family  physician  had 
informed  them  that  the  fever  had  run  its  course,  and  the 
girl  was  certain  to  rally.  The  banker  was  radiant  with 
delight  as  he  observed  the  improvement  in  Alice's  con- 
dition. Every  morning,  before  he  got  into  his  coupe  to 
drive  down  to  the  bank,  he  came  timidly  to  the  door  of 
the  sick-room,  and,  being  led  by  his  wife  into  his  daughter's 
presence,  kissed  her  pale  brow  tenderly,  and  talked  in  a 
low  voice  for  a  few  moments.  Mrs.  Ilarrelston  observed 
that  he  never  failed  to  mention  the  young  Indian's  name. 
The  shrewd  father  knew  the  cordial  that  gave  the  girl 
life,  and  was  an  excellent  judge  of  the  doses  in  which  it 
was  to  be  administered. 

"You   are  laying  up  trouble  for  us  in  future  Eric," 


CONVALESCENCE.  279 

said  his  wife  one  morning,  as  she  accompanied  him  to  the 
garden  gate.  "  Would  you  like  to  have  our  daughter  Alice 
marry  an  Indian?  " 

"  I  want  m}r  daughter  Alice  to  live,"  he  had  answered 
gently,  whisking  into  the  carriage,  and  telling  the  coach- 
man to  drive  on,  as  if  he  were  anxious  to  avoid  discussion 
on  the  subject. 

The  truth  was  that  he  was  trying  to  invent  some  plan 
by  which  he  could  turn  Alice's  attention  awa}-  from  the 
youthful  Cherokee,  but  thus  far  he  had  cudgelled  his 
brains  in  vain. 

Pleasant  came  and  went  with  a  penitent,  stricken  air, 
which  was  very  impressive  ;  it  was  not  difficult  to  see  that 
his  self-surrender  to  Alice  was  now  complete,  and  that  he 
was  torn  with  remorse  for  the  heedless  and  selfish  manner 
in  which  he  had  separated  himself  from  her  after  his 
declaration  to  her  of  his  love.  When  Mr.  Harrelston 
looked  at  the  dark  face,  with  its  proud  and  fierce  expres- 
sion, he  was  no  little  perplexed  to  know  how  he  should 
deal  with  this  youth  who  had  pushed  his  way  into  the 
family  as  if  he  meant  to  claim  a  permanent  connection 
there,  and  whose  excessive  frankness  disarmed  all  an- 
tagonism to  his  wishes. 

"If  there  were  anything  mean  in  his  composition," 
thought  Mr.  Harrelston,  "  I  should  know  how  to  send  him 
to  the  right-about  in  a  minute  ;  but,  confound  him,  there 
isn't!  " 

Mrs.  Harrelston  had  her  own  peculiar  plan  —  most 
mothers  have  one  —  and  she  carefully  refrained  from  telling 
her  husband  what  it  was,  because  she  feared  that  he  might 
spoil  it.  She  did  not  intend  that  Mr.  Pleasant  Merrinott 
should  marry  her  daughter  until  she  had  exhausted  every 
means  for  preventing  an  alliance  upon  which  she  thought 
she  could  look  only  with  distaste  and  repugnance.  Yet 
when  she  reflected,  from  time  to  time,  on  the  singular 


280  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

intensity  and  passionate  earnestness  of  her  daughter's 
nature,  she  felt  that  to  undertake  the  direct  thwarting  of 
Alice's  wishes  —  the  fulfilment  of  her  affections  —  would  be 
a  responsibility  from  which  she  would  be  inclined  to 
shrink,  even  were  it  at  the  expense  of  humbling  her  pride. 

"Morning  you  said,  mamma,  did  you  not?"  said 
Alice,  who  seemed  determined  to  talk.  "Oh!  how  I 
long  to  be  well  enough  to  be  out  of  doors  !  The  Bois  must 
be  lovely,  now.  Jt  is  almost  October,  isn't  it?  Have  the 
leaves  turned  yet  ?  When  can  I  sit  up  ?  Can  I  not  look 
out  of  the  window  ? ' ' 

"It  is  quite  October,  dear  —  the  third  day,  even,  and 
the  leaves  are  all  russet,  and  the  nights  and  mornings 
are  very  cold.  I  am  afraid  you  cannot  go  out,  dear  child, 
for  a  long  time  to  come." 

"  I  shall  ask  the  doctor  to-day." 

"  Alice,  you  frighten  me  !  You  must  not  talk  now,  but 
try  to  sleep." 

"No,  mamma;  I  have  slept  too  much.  Last  night  I 
dreamed  that  I  was  back  in  Meiriugen,  and  it  seemed  so 
real  that  when  I  awoke  just  now  I  looked  for  the  old  blue 
bed-curtains  of  the  Reicheubach  Hotel.  I  thought  I  was 
still  there.  Isn't  it  absurd?  And  do  you  know  that  most 
of  the  time  since  I  have  been  ill  I  have  fancied  that  I  was 
in  Meiringeu  ?  I  could  have  insisted  on  it.  The  two  walls 
of  the  room  were  like  two  great  mountain  ranges,  and  I 
could  see  the  drifting  of  the  clouds,  and  the  shadows  on 
the  rocks,  and  I  could  feel  the  spray  on  my  brow  from  the 
brook.  And  oh,  mamma,  one  night  I  dreamed  that  the 
Alpbach  swelled  to  a  terrible  torrent  while  I  was  crossing  it, 
and  that  I  should  have  been  washed  away  and  drowned  if 
I  had  not  been  saved  by  Mr.  Meninott.  lie  dashed  into 
the  water  after  me,  and  —  and  then  I  could  remember 
nothing  else.  Wasn't  it  a  strange  dream?  And  it  was 
so  frightfullv  lifelike " 


CONVALESCENCE.  281 

"  Oh  !  daughter,  daughter  Alice,"  said  Mrs.  Harrelstou, 
rising  from  her  knees,  "  you  must  lie  still  and  try  to  sleep. 
The  doctor  will  scold  me  when  he  finds  you  wide  awake 
and  excited." 

"  I  am  not  excited  now,  dear,"  said  the  girl.  "  I  feel 
very  calm  ;  I  shall  be  all  right  in  a  few  days."  She  looked 
up  at  her  mother  with  a  faint  smile  which  seemed  like  a 
promise  of  recovery.  Some  of  Alice's  old  vivacity  was 
evidently  struggling  to  find  its  way  back  into  her  white 
and  wearied  face.  The  mother  bent  down  to  kiss  the  girl, 
and  found  Alice's  hands  clasped  tightly  over  her  own. 
"And then  I  dreamed  —  mamma,  you  know  how  foolish 
dreams  are  ;  they  never  seem  to  have  any  common  sense 
or  coherence  —  that  it  was  not  I,  but  Mr.  Merrinott,  who 
was  in  danger  of  being  carried  off  by  the  flood.  I  saw  him 
washed  down  into  a  dreadful  boiling  sea,  and  then  he 
vanished.  But,  as  he  disappeared,  he  cried  out,  '  I  shall 
come  back  again.'  Was  that  not  strange ?  What  do  you 
think  it  means?  " 

"  It  means,  my  lady,"  said  Mrs.  Harrelston,  "  that  you 
have  had  a  narrow  escape  from  being  swept  away  on  a 
flood  much  like  that  which  you  dreamed  of,  but  that  God 
has  kept  you  for  us,  and  that  unless  you  wish  to  break 
our  hearts,  you  will  not  keep  on  talking,  and  so  run  the 
risk  of  falling  ill  again.  Alice,  will  you  not  listen  to  me? 
Alice  !  What  will  the  doctor  say  ? ' ' 

Mrs.  Harrelston  spoke  almost  sharply,  for  the  girl  had 
thrown  her  arms  about  her  mother's  neck  with  a  quick, 
feverish  movement  quite  unexpected  from  one  in  the  early 
stages  of  recovery  from  an  exhausting  fever,  and  so  had 
raised  herself  into  a  sitting  posture. 

"Prop  me  up  with  the  pillows,  mamma,"  she  said. 
"  I  want  to  sit  so  for  a  little  while.  I  am  sure  that  get- 
ting well  requires  nothing  now  but  an  effort  of  the  will, 
and  I  am  going  to  make  it." 


282  THE  GENTLE    SAVAGE. 

Mrs.  Harrelston  slowly  extricated  herself  from  the 
girl's  embrace,  and  arranged  the  pillows.  "  If  you  will 
not  obey  ?ne,  Alice,"  she  said,  "  I  suppose  I  must  obey 
you." 

"  Tell  me  one  thing,  mamma,"  said  the  girl  with  sudden 
earnestness,  and  with  a  pained  expression,  as  if  at  the 
revival  of  a  sad  memory  or  an  anxiety;  "tell  me  one 
thing,  and  I  will  do  as  you  wish  at  once." 

"What  is  it,  Alice?" 

"You  know  that  papa  told  me  the  other  day  —  that 
Mr.  Merrinott  had  been  here  —  that  he  is  in  Paris.  Was 
that  —  have  you  seen  him,  mamma?  Or  was  papa  trying 

to She  paused  with  a  perplexed  look  on  her  face. 

A  moment  afterwards  she  said,  "  I  thought  perhaps  papa 
was  trying  to  make  me  think  that  he  had  come  back  —  and 
was  staying  here,  when  he  was  elsewhere  —  for  you  know 
he  is  such  a  wild  and  strange  3'oung  man ;  and  when  he 
disappeared  in  Switzerland  —  I  mean  when  he  did  not 
come  here  — 

"  Did  you  expect  him  to  come  to  Paris,  then?"  queried 
Mrs.  Harrelston,  almost  forgetting  her  daughter's  illness 
in  her  eagerness  to  learn  anj-thing  new  concerning  Alice's 
relations  to  the  Indian. 

"Yes,  mamma,  I  think  I  did,"  answered  the  girl, 
lowering  her  eyes,  and  sinking  back  upon  the  pillows. 
"  Don't  you  know,  you  said  in  Switzerland  —  that  it  was 
not  necessary  to  invite  him  to  call  on  us  in  Paris  — 
but- 

"And  it  proved  entirely  unnecessary,  for  he  certainly 
called  without  my  invitation." 

"Then  pupa  told  me  the  truth?"  said  Alice,  almost 
joyously.  "  How  could  I  have  fancied  that  he  did  not? 
I  must  have  mixed  my  dream  and  the  reality " 

"  Alice,  you  are  feverish  again.  You  must  lie  down  at 
once." 


CONVALESCENCE.  283 

"  Very  well,  mamma."  And  she  obeyed,  hiding  her 
sweet  face,  into  which  new  health  and  life  seemed  every 
moment  stealing,  among  the  pillows.  But  she  did  not  go 
to  sleep.  She  closed  her  eyes,  and  thought  about  Pleas- 
ant Merrinott.  And  by-aud-by,  when  watchful  Mrs. 
Harrelston,  deceived  by  her  regular  breathing,  fancied 
that  she  was  slumbering,  and  left  the  room  for  a  few 

minutes,  she  murmured  Pleasaut's  name. 

****** 

Had  Alice  realized  how  near  she  had  gone  to  the  gates 
of  death,  she  might  have  come  back  from  them  with  more 
difficulty.  But  j^outh  and  love  escorted  her  on  the  upward 
journey,  and  she  was  soon  well  enough  to  receive  the 
doctor's  permission  to  leave  her  chamber.  She  passed 
from  stage  to  stage  of  convalescence  with  eagerness  ;  and 
one  lovely  October  morning,  ten  days  after  the  banker 
had  begun  his  experiment  by  telling  her  that  Pleasant 
Merriuott  was  in  Paris  and  had  asked  to  see  her,  she  was 
escorted  by  her  father  and  mother  into  the  libra^  on  the 
ground  floor  of  the  villa,  and  was  informed  that  she 
might  sit  for  half  an  hour  at  the  window  opening  upon  the 
porch.  It  was  ten  o'clock ;  the  warm  sunshine  seemed 
coining  gold  out  of  the  tawny  leaves  on  the  trees  in  the 
garden  ;  and  a  faint  aroma  of  resinous  woods  came  from 
the  alleys  of  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  along  the  skirt  of 
which  ran  the  avenue  on  which  the  Harrelstons  lived. 
The  banker  bade  his  daughter  good-bye,  and  trundled 
away  to  his  daily  slavery ;  and  Alice,  warmly  wrapped 
up.  reclining  in  a  cosy  arm-chair,  was  keenly  enjoying  the 
communion  with  out-of-doors  nature  which  her  illness  had 
so  long  interrupted,  when  her  eyes  fell  on  a  huge  bouquet, 
placed  in  a  Japanese  vase  on  a  pedestal  among  the  bronzes 
near  a  writing-desk.  Bertine,  the  maid,  who  stood  near 
Alice,  at  once  understood  the  question  indicated  by  the 
delicate  arching  of  Miss  Harrelston' s  eyebrows. 


284  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

"  It  is  the  seventh  one ,  Mademoiselle , ' '  she  said .  ' '  Poor, 
dear  man !  What  pains  he  has  given  himself  to  inquire 
after  Mademoiselle !  And  a  new  bouquet  every  day  or 
two  !  We  were  obliged  to  hide  them,  and  to  let  him  think 
that  they  were  in  Mademoiselle's  chamber,  although 
Madame  your  mother  would  not  allow  any  flowers  in 
the  upper  rooms  while  Mademoiselle  had  the  fever." 

Alice  laughed  merrily.  "  Seven  bouquets,  Bertiue  !  "  she 
said.  "  Did  the  savage  really  bring  as  many  as  that?  " 

"The  savage,  Mademoiselle?  Oh  no!  It  was  of 
Colonel  Cliff  that  I  was  speaking." 

Alice  grew  grave. 

"  Colonel  Cliff?  Has  he  returned  from  Spain?  Then 
the  bouquets  are  all  from  him." 

"  All  but  three  or  four,  which  came  from  friends  when 
Mademoiselle  was  first  taken  ill.  And  except  one  —  an 
odd  little  one  —  from  the  Russian  lady  whom  we  saw  in 
Berne." 

"  Indeed  !     Has  she  been  here?  " 

"  No,  Mademoiselle.  It  was  brought  by  a  very  old 
man,  a  Jew  —  with  a  long  coat  on  —  ah  !  a  dirty  and  greasy 
coat !  an  old  man  with  a  face  all  covered  with  scars,  and 
with  a  gray  curl  in  front  of  each  ear.  The  flowers  were 
cheap,  but  they  were  pretty.  As  they  withered  quickly, 
Madame  your  mother  made  me  throw  them  away." 

"And  the  savage  brought  no  flowers,  Bertine?  Are 
you  quite  sure?  " 

"I  do  not  think  he  brought  any,  Mademoiselle,  but  I 
will  inquire,"  said  the  maid,  respectfully,  turning  away 
to  hide  the  smile  at  her  lips.  As  she  was  opening  the 
door  lending  into  the  hall,  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  tall 
figure  at  the  garden  gate.  "  There  he  is  now,  Mademoi- 
selle," she  said,  and  disappeared. 

Now  the  garden  gate  happened  to  be  ajar,  and  the 
result  was  that  before  Alice  had  found  courage  to  take  a 


CONVALESCENCE.  285 

good  look  at  the  visitor  announced  by  Bertine,  that  visitor 
stood  on  the  porch  before  her,  at  the  open  window.  Al- 
though he  thought  she  looked  down,  she  saw  him.  He 
had  been  walking  rapidly,  and  his  eyes  were  sparkling 
with  excitement.  He  took  off  his  hat  and  threw  his  long 
black  hair  back  from  his  brow  nervously.  Alice  instinc- 
tively felt  that  he  had  been  brave  enough  to  say  whatever 
he  pleased  until  he  had  reached  the  window,  and  that 
there  and  then  his  courage  had  ebbed  away.  The  faint 
flush  came  into  her  cheeks  as  she  raised  her  head,  and  said — 

"  Oh,  it  is  Mr.  Merrinott !  I  thought  you  were  already 
on  your  way  to  the  Indian  Nation,  for  we  have  heard 
nothing  of  you."  Then  the  vision  of  the  snow-clad  Al- 
pine range  arose  before  her,  and  she  seemed  to  hear  the 
roaring  of  the  river  Aar,  and  the  sound  of  the  young  Cher- 
okee's voice  saying,  over  and  over  again,  "Forgive  me, 
Alice,  and  love  me  !  "  She  lost  her  momentary  self-pos- 
session, and  gazed  at  the  embroidered  ottoman  at  her  feet. 

"  Miss  Harrelston,"  said  Pleasant,  in  a  tremulous  but 
clear  voice,  "  I  have  been  a  fool  —  a  reckless,  inconsider- 
ate, headstrong  fellow.  I  was  guilty  of  a  great  discour- 
tesy in  rushing  away  from  you  like  I  did  that  —  that  night 
—  at  Berne.  But  I  have  tried  to  atone  for  my  folly  ever 
since  I  became  convinced  of  it.  And  I  have  come  to  ask 
you  to  forgive  me.  Oh  !  Miss  Harrelston  —  if  you  could 
know  how  I  have  suffered !  " 

Despite  the  incoherence  of  the  explanation,  Alice  un- 
derstood it  perfectly.  "  If  there  is  anything  to  forgive, 
please  consider  it  forgiven,  Mr.  Merrinott,"  she  said, 
very  sweetly,  yet  with  a  certain  dignity  which  seemed  to 
establish  an  unpleasantly  wide  distance  between  them. 
Pleasant  felt  as  if  he  had  failed  in  his  effort  to  re-enter 
Paradise,  and  he  was  cold  at  the  heart  for  a  minute.  "  I 
think  we  rather  expect  you  to  be  original,"  the  girl  added, 
readily  perceiving  that  he  was  abashed,  and  not  sorry  to 


286  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

find  him  a  bit  humble.  "  Will  you  walk  in  by  the  front 
door,  or  will  you  sit  down  on  that  little  seat  in  the  warm 
sunshine?  I  suppose  you  know  that  I  have  been  very 
ill?  And  what  have  you  been  doing  in  Paris  —  since 
your  arrival?  " 

"  I  have  been  waiting  for  you  to  recover,  and  trembling 
at  the  thought  that  I  might  never  see  you  again,"  an- 
swered the  young  Indian,  drawing  a  rustic  bench  toward 
the  French  window,  and  sitting  down  so  that  he  was 
directly  opposite  Alice. 

"And  have  you  been  at  work  on  your  mission?  Or 
have  you  forgotten  about  the  poor  Cherokees,  and  am  I 
to  win  my  wager,  after  all  ?  " 

"The  Cherokees,  Miss  Harrelston,  have  been  giving  a 
good  account  of  themselves.  I  am  glad  to  say  that  they 
have  driven  out  some  of  the  white  intruders,  and  that 
they  —  well,  I  reckon  they  punished  them  right  severely. 
But  why  talk  of  them?  Oh,  Miss  Harrelston,  tell  me  that 
you  have  forgiven  me  —  and  that  you  have  not  forgotten 
—  that  you  are  not  angry  with  me." 

Alice  was  puzzled.  As  she  was,  of  course,  quite  un- 
conscious that. in  her  delirium  she  had  betrayed  the  secret 
of  her  heart  to  her  parents,  and  that  her  father  had  in  his 
anxiety  communicated  it  to  Pleasant,  she  could  scarcely 
understand  why  he  was  so  penitent.  She  thought  it  might 
be  well  not  to  be  profuse  iu  her  expressions  of  forgiveness. 

"  I  have  been  here  every  day,"  continued  Pleasant,  rue- 
fully. "  Your  father  has  been  good  to  me,  and  has  told 
me  ever}-  morning  how  you  were  getting  on." 

He  did  not  tell  her  that  he  had  stood  all  one  night  in 
the  shadow  of  the  garden  wall,  suffering  incalculable  an- 
guish because  Mr.  Harrelston,  in  a  moment  of  dread,  had 
told  him  that  he  was  "  afraid  Alice  would  not  live  to  see 
another  dawn." 

"You  were  very  kind  to  think  of  me,"  she  said,  and 


CONVALESCENCE.  287 

the  eloquence  of  love  stole  into  her  tones  although  she 
strove  hard  to  conceal  it. 

"  Think  of  you  !  How  could  I  help  it !  "  said  Pleasant, 
simply.  He  looked  carefully  around  the  handsome  library, 
with  its  rich  carpets,  its  fragment  of  ancient  tapestry 
behind  a  carven  bookcase,  its  ivory  images  ranged  on 
glittering  shelves,  and  its  costly  bronzes ;  and  presently 
his  eyes  fell  on  the  flowers.  "  That  is  a  beautiful  bouquet 
yonder,"  he  said. 

"Yes,"  said  Alice,  glancing  swiftly  at  him,  while  a 
dimple  of  mischief  appeared  in  her  cheeks,  and  hor  eyes 
sparkled.  "  It  is  from  Colonel  Cliff.  May  I  ask  you  to 
step  in  and  hand  it  to  me?  I  have  not  }'et  had  the 
pleasure  of  examining  it." 

Pleasant  put  on  his  most  ugly  frown,  arose  and  went 
around  to  the  hall  door,  and  entering  the  library,  caught 
up  the  mass  of  flowers,  regardless  of  the  water  that  dripped 
on  the  carpet. 

"Oh  no,  no!  You  must  bring  the  vase  also!"  cried 
Alice  ;  and  while  he  was  doing  this,  rather  clumsily,  Alice 
examined  him  critically.  He  was  smarter  in  his  dress ; 
it  was  evident  that  Paris  had  already  begun  her  work  of 
polishing  him.  But  there  was  a  look  of  perplexity  and 
annoyance  on  his  handsome  face  which  displeased  her. 
It  seemed  to  detract  from  his  nobility  of  expression. 

When  Colonel  Cliff  arrived  ten  minutes  later,  and  was 
ushered  into  the  library  by  Mrs.  Harrelston,  who  had  met 
him  in  the  hall,  he  was  disagreeably  surprised  to  find 
Pleasant  seated  almost  at  the  feet  of  Alice,  and  picking  to 
pieces  the  Colonel's  latest  bouquet.  Mrs.  Harrelston  was 
shocked,  and  expected  to  see  Pleasant  at  once  retire  to  a 
corner  ;  but  he  did  not.  He  rose,  made  his  formal  South- 
ern Academy  bow,  and  sat  down  again  without  retreating 
an  inch. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

THE   WAKNTNG. 

IT  did  not  take  Miss  Harrclston  long  to  discover  that 
Colonel  Cliff  was  profoundly  annoyed  at  finding  Pleasant 
sitting  at  her  feet,  and  that  the  gallant  gentleman  en- 
deavoured to  conceal  his  annoyance  by  talking  like  an 
angel.  In  conversation  Colonel  Cliff  clearly  had  Pleasant 
at  a  disadvantage.  The  Cherokee  was  especially  infelici- 
tous in  that  small  talk  which  passes  current  in  society  for 
so  much  more  than  it  is  worth ;  and  his  quaintness  and 
originality  were  frequently  mistaken  by  ladies  who  were 
accustomed  to  more  ceremonious  and  cautious  address  for 
downright  rudeness  or  ignorance.  Pleasant  had,  however, 
a  singularly  fascinating  way  of  redeeming  himself,  after 
an  apparently  careless  lapse,  by  a  flash  of  wit,  or  an  odd 
reminiscence  of  his  life  in  the  Nation,  which  even  the 
most  exacting  dames  accepted  as  adequate  compensation 
for  his  minor  defects. 

Colonel  Cliff,  "brought  up"  in  the  best  of  society, 
and  in  a  punctilious  family  where  etiquette  was  con- 
sidered as  necessary  as  probity,  never  made  mistakes, 
was  always  at  case,  and  readily  saw  that  Pleasant  would 
have  given  his  eyes  to  possess  the  same  repose  and  polish 
of  manner.  On  a  prairie,  or  in  a  forest,  Pleasant  would 
have  appeared  infinite!}-  superior  to  the  ex-officer,  but 
in  a  drawing-room  Colonel  Cliff,  in  his  faultless  morn- 

288 


THE   WARNING.  289 

ing  costume,  his  stainless  gloves,  and  creaseless  shoes,  and 
with  his  slightly  formal  and  military  carriage,  was  the 
more  correct  of  the  two.  He  held  Pleasant  at  a  distance. 
Disdaining  to  allude  to  his  unlucky  bouquet,  which  the 
Cherokee  coolly  went  on  dissecting,  he  talked  to  the  ladies 
of  Spain,  of  Caro  and  her  new  enterprise  (adroitly  mana- 
ging to  discover  that  Caro's  mission  to  the  Harrelston  man- 
sion in  his  behalf  had  not  been  in  vain) ,  of  the  best  means 
of  encouraging  convalescence,  of  the  glories  of  the  autumn 
weather,  of  the  sojourn  in  Switzerland,  and  all  in  such 
agreeable  vein,  and  with  such  art  in  flying  from  one 
subject  to  another,  that  Pleasant  could  not  put  in  a  word. 

The  Indian  began  to  feel  discomfited,  and  the  scowl  on 
his  brow  deepened  as  he  observed  that  Mrs.  Harrelston  was 
enjoying  his  discomfiture.  Just  as  he  had  decided  to  break 
into  the  conversation,  at  all  hazards,  the  Colonel  turned  to 
him,  in  the  most  natural  manner  in  the  world,  and  with  a 
winning  smile,  said  — 

"And  what  news  from  the  Nation,  Mr.  Merrinott? 
When  does  the  extermination  of  the  wicked  Bluelots 
begin?" 

Alice  started,  and  looked  reproachfully  at  Pleasant,  as 
if  she  half  suspected  him  of  an  inclination  to  break  the 
promise  which  he  had  made  to  her  on  the  hill  in  the 
Brunig  Pass.  Pleasant  arose  so  abruptly  that  Colonel 
Cliff  started  back  ;  then  brushing  some  leaves  and  the 
petals  of  some  massacred  roses  from  his  garments,  he 
answered,  slowly  — 

"  The  Cherokees,  sir,  are  making  right  smart  progress. 
They  have  undertaken  to  do  the  work  that  the  United 
States  soldiers  were  not  enterprising  enough  to  accomplish  ; 
they  have  attacked  the  white  invaders  and  driven  them 
back;  not,  I  reckon,  sir,"  he  added,  a  little  proudly, 
u  without  doing  them  some  damage." 

"  Now  you   must   not   speak   ill  of   the  soldiers,   Mr. 


200  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

Merrinott,"  said  the  Colonel,  rising  in  his  turn,  as  if  he 
disliked  to  sit  under  the  shadow  of  the  Indian.  "Re- 
member, if  you  please,  that  they  have  done  many  a  good 
deed  for  your  race." 

"My  memory,  sir,  is  excellent,"  said  Pleasant,  whose 
voice  was  getting  deeper. 

"Dear  me!"  said  Mrs.  Harrelston ;  "there  go  the 
gentlemen  into  politics.  I  must  remind  you  not  to  talk 
of  exciting  topics  before  Alice,  or  I  shall  carry  her  off  to 
her  chamber,  and  you  will  see  her  no  more  until  she  is 
quite  well." 

"  I  like  it,  mamma,"  said  Alice,  with  a  gleam  of  fun  in 
her  eyes.  "  Mr.  Merrinott  is  so  terribly  in  earnest  when 
he  talks  about  his  Nation  !  " 

"I  must  beg  your  pardon,  ladies,"  said  the  Colonel, 
"  but  my  interest  in  Mr.  Merrinott's  Nation  is  quite  as 
sincere  as  his  own " 

Pleasant  looked  up  at  Colonel  Cliff  with  a  scornful  flash 
out  of  his  great  lustrous  eyes. 

"  And  some  of  the  happiest  days  of  my  life  were  passed 
in  that  enchanted  Territory.  I  often  see  dancing  before 
my  eyes  vivid  pictures  of  its  flower-spangled  fields,  and  its 
forests  filled  with  thousands  of  chattering  birds,  and  its 
great  natural  parks,  and  its  delicious  twilights.  And  I 
always  feel  a  genuine  interest  in  learning  how  the  Indians 
are  succeeding  in  keeping  it  in  their  possession." 

"Is  it  so  lovely,  then?  "  said  Alice. 

"It  is  one  of  the  garden  spots  of  the  world;  a  kind 
of  earthly  paradise,  not  yet  marred  by  the  ugly  practical 
improvements  of  the  civilization  of  the  United  States. 
Personally,  I  hope  the  Indians  will  keep  all  intruders  out 
of  it,  but  I  am  afraid  I  must  admit  that  I  don't  believe 
they  will." 

"  Oh,  they  must,"  said  Alice  ;  "  they  cannot  do  other- 
wise, if  thev  are  all  as  enthusiastic  as  Mr.  Merriuott." 


THE   WARNING.  291 

"  Enthusiasm  is  a  fine  quality,"  remarked  the  Colonel, 
thoughtfully  ;  ' '  but  I  cannot  see  that  it  does  much  toward 
freeing  nations  or  keeping  them  from  invasion  and  de- 
struction. No  class  of  people,  I  should  think,  is  more 
enthusiastic  than  revolutionists ;  but  see  how  little  they 
effect  in  these  latter  days.  Take  the  case  of  Russia,  for 
instance.  There  are  the  Russian  conspirators ' ' 

"  Really,  Colonel  Cliff,"  said  Mrs.  Harrelston,  "  I  must 
exercise  my  authority  rather  more  sternly.  You  may 
talk  about  flowers  and  music  and  sunshine  while  Alice  is 
here,  but  not  of  politics  and  conspiracies." 

The  Colonel  had  given  Pleasant  a  most  significant  look 
when  he  spoke  of  Russian  conspiracies,  and  it  had  not  been 
lost  upon  the  Indian. 

"  Madam,  I  deserve  to  be  banished,"  said  the  Colonel. 
"  I  don't  know  what  brought  the  topic  of  revolution  into 
my  head,  unless  it  was  that  I  had  heard  from  a  diplomatic 
friend,  the  other  evening  at  a  party,  that  the  French 
Government  has  been  requested  to  keep  its  eyes  closely  on 
the  movements  of  a  party  of  Russian  conspirators  recently 
arrived  here.  Romantic,  isn't  it,  to  think  that  we  jostle  a 
Nihilist  in  our  morning  walk,  and  sit  opposite  a  possible 
political  assassin  at  a  table  d'hdte?" 

Again  Colonel  Cliff  looked  so  steadily  at  Pleasant  that 
the  Indian  felt  almost  tempted  openly  to  resent  it.  It 
happened  that  Alice  noticed  this  steadfast  and  meaning 
look,  and  the  trouble  which  it  seemed  to  cause  Pleasant, 
and  she  wondered  at  it. 

"  Nihilists,  indeed  !  "  said  Mrs.  Harrelston.  "  A  pretty 
subject  of  conversation !  All  such  people  ought  to  be 
burned  at  the  stake  —  they  and  those  who  sympathize  with 
them!  " 

"The  worst  of  it  is  that  they  make  dupes,  and  carry 
ruin  and  dishonour  in  their  train,"  said  the  Colonel. 

Pleasant  was  so  puzzled  by  the  Colonel's  remarks  that 


292  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

he  then  and  there  fell  into  a  brown  study.  Of  all  men  in 
the  world,  Colonel  Cliff  was  the  last  man  whom  he  would 
have  suspected  of  knowledge  of  the  conspiracy  of  Stanislas 
and  Vera,  and  of  his  own  innocent  and  accidental  con- 
nection with  it.  While  he  was  standing  like  one  in  a 
trance  he  heard  Alice  saying  to  the  Colonel,  in  a  low 
voice  — 

"Alas!  yes;  they  are  the  flowers  which  you  kindly 
sent  me.  I  could  not  keep  them  from  Mr.  Merrinott's 
destroying  fingers.  He  has  been  strewing  them  before 
me " 

"As  a  tardy  floral  offering  to  propitiate  you  for  his 
neglect  in  not  sending  you  any  himself,  I  suppose,"  said 
the  Colonel,  with  a  cj'nical  little  laugh,  which  brought 
Pleasant  out  of  his  reverie. 

Then  Bertine  came  in  with  some  cards  left  for  Alice 
and  Mrs.  Harrelston,  and  the  conversation  drifted  into 
social  channels.  Mrs.  Harrelston  took  Colonel  Cliff  to  a 
niche  in  the  library  to  show  him  a  menu  printed  on  satin 
in  gorgeous  polychromic  text,  and  Pleasant  got  back  at 
once  to  his  post  beside  Alice. 

"  You  ma}'  look  over  the  cards  with  me,"  she  said,  "  if 
you  will  promise  not  to  tear  them  in  pieces,  as  you  did 
the  flowers.  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  hold  the  card- 
basket?" 

He  took  the  dainty  silken-lined  panier,  and  Alice  tossed 
card  after  card  into  it,  the  Indian  glancing  eagerly  at  the 
name  on  each  one,  searching  for  the  announcement  among 
all  these  remembrancers  of  a  possible  rival.  Suddenly  he 
bethought  himself  once  more  of  the  object  of  his  visit  — 
the  renewed  declaration  of  his  love  for  Alice.  The  Colonel 
was  talking  in  loud  and  merry  strain  to  Mrs.  Harrelston 
about  dinners  and  dinner  bills.  Pleasant  seized  his  op- 
portunity, and  leaning  forward,  said,  almost  in  a  whisper — 

"  When  may  I  come  again?  " 


THE   WARNING.  293 

A  presumptuous  and  unsuitable  suitor  would  have 
received  a  sharp  answer,  for  Alice's  wit  was  keen,  and 
she  had  the  Parisian  talent  of  saying  the  word  that  cuts 
like  the  blade  that  stabs  you  before  you  see  its  flash.  But 
there  was  so  much  of  longing  reverence  in  Pleasant' s  tone 
—  the  whisper  sent  such  a  thrill  to  her  heart  —  and  in  the 
bending  of  his  proud  neck  there  was  such  an  unwilling 
confession  of  repentance  and  self-surrender,  that  a  cutting 
response  did  not  come.  So  she  answered,  simply  — 

"  Come  whenever  you  think  that  you  will  find  us 
entertaining."  She  went  on  inspecting  the  cards  and 
speculating  on  the  answer  that  her  mother  would  have 
expected  her  to  give  to  Pleasant's  question.  For  the  first 
time  in  her  life  she  felt  a  kind  of  guilty  joy  in  the  knowl- 
edge that  she  was  acting  somewhat  against  her  mother's 
wish.  But  she  consoled  herself  with  the  reflection  that 
in  process  of  time  she  could  probably  bring  her  mamma  to 
her  own  way  of  thinking.  "  Mrs.  Brown-Wylde,  Mrs. 
Euston,  Mr.  Marlow,  M.  le  Comte  Ponitzi,  Mr.  Van 
Rosslyn Oh  !  here  are  the  cards  of  our  Russian  ac- 
quaintances !  v  She  raised  her  voice  a  bit,  and  looked 
somewhat  inquisitively  at  Pleasant  as  she  handed  him  two 
pieces  of  pasteboard.  "The  musician  and  his  sister! 
By  the  way,  Mademoiselle  Yera  appears  to  have  made  her 
way  to  Paris,  for  Bertine  tells  me  that  she  left  a  bouquet 
for  me  while  I  was  shut  up  in  my  sick  chamber." 

"  Oh  yes  !  she  has  been  here  for  some  little  time,"  said 
Pleasant,  without  any  surprise  in  his  voice.  "  I  see  her 
quite  often.  She  is  studying  medicine  —  as  I  reckon  you 
remember  that  she  intended  to  do." 

Alice  opened  her  eyes  widely.  This  girl,  this  woman, 
concerning  whom  Caro  had  such  grave  doubts  —  this 
strange  personage  who  had  crossed  their  path  only  to  cast 
a  shadow  on  it  —  en  joyed  the  acquaintance  and  confidence 
of  Pleasant- Merrinott?  And  all  the  time  that  Alice  had 


294  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

been  tossing  feverishly  on  her  couch  of  pain  because  she  had 
suspected  Pleasant  of  insinceritj-,  he  had  been  seeing  this 
woman  —  often.  Alice  veiled  her  distress,  but  it  tugged 
sorely  at  her  heart. 

" 1  suppose,"  said  the  girl,  softly,  "  that  Mademoiselle 
Vera  still  believes  in  your  enthusiasm?"  Then,  without 
giving  him  time  to  reply,  she  repeated  the  name  which 
she  had  read  on  the  card.  "  Vera  Labonoff .  Is  it  noff  or 
now?  Do  you  not  think  that  the  name  has  a  kind  of 
mysterious  flavour  ? ' ' 

"  "Well,  no,  Miss  Harrelston,"  answered  Pleasant, 
cautiously;  "I  cannot  say  that  I  think  so.  Indeed,  I 
had  not  thought  about  it.  The  lady  seems  strong-minded, 
but " 

"Vera  Labonoff,"  said  Colonel  Cliff,  whose  sharp  ear 
had  caught  the  sound  of  the  name,  and  who  came  back 
to  Pleasant  and  Alice  ;  "  why,  that  is  one  of  the  persons 
said  to  be—  Beg  your  pardon,  did  you  speak,  Mrs. 
Harrelston?" 

"  No,  no.  Do  you  know  this  Mademoiselle  Vera,  then, 
Colonel?" 

"  I  have  not  that  honour.  Excuse  me  ;  I  have  probably 
confounded  the  lady  with  some  one  else.  But  the  name  is 
almost  exactly  identical  with  that  of  a  person  mentioned 
to  me  as  connected  with  the  Nihilist  conspiracy,  and  lately 
arrived  in  Paris.  It's  an  odd  coincidence." 

Pleasant  started  perceptibly,  and  looked  at  Colonel 
Cliff  as  if  he  would  like  to  read  his  thoughts.  What  did 
this  mean  ? 

"  Oh,  I  can't  think  this  lad}*  conspires,"  said  Alice,  but 
with  a  tremor  of  doubt  in  her  voice.  "  She  is  the  sister  of 
Monsieur  Stanislas  —  and  he  never  struck  me  as  a  con- 
spirator. He  is  devoted  to  nothing  but  his  profession." 

"  Well.  I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Harrelston.  "  There 
is  something  uncanny  about  her.  She  was  so  frank  and 


THE  WARNING.  295 

engaging  in  Switzerland  that  we  could  not  well  avoid  her. 
especially  because  of  our  acquaintance  with  her  brother. 
But  I  think  the  brother  would  better  advise  her  to  be 
more  retiring.  I  should  be  horrified  at  the  thought  that 
we  had  adopted  a  conspirator  as  a  friend.  I  would  not 
encourage  her  visits,  daughter." 

"  Perhaps  Mr.  Merrinott  can  tell  us  about  her  political 
sentiments,"  said  Alice,  suddenly.  "He  sees  her  quite 
often." 

"  Beware,  Mr.  Merrinott,  or  you  will  get  tangled  in  the 
web  of  a  conspiracy,"  said  Colonel  Cliff,  shaking  his  fin- 
ger at  the  Indian  and  laughing. 

"  I  am  no  conspirator,  sir,"  said  Pleasant,  rather  hotly. 
But  he  was  anxious  to  avoid  further  conversation  on  the 
topic  for  the  moment.  "  The  lady  seems  to  me  more  in- 
terested in  the  study  of  medicine  than  in  anything  else." 

"Ah!  Very  likely  she  is  not  the  Nihilist,"  said  the 
Colonel.  "  The  name  seemed  identical.  It  would  be  hard, 
however,  to  imagine  Stanislas  as  having  a  sister  who  con- 
spires, for  I  happen  to  know  that  he  is  anything  but  a 
conspirator  —  rather  strongly  in  favour  of  the  established 
government  in  Russia,  I  should  say." 

"  Do  find  out,  Mr.  Merrinott,  please,"  said  Mrs.  Har- 
relston  ;  "  and  if  she  proves  to  be  Nihilistic  in  her  notions, 
I  am  certain  that  you  would  be  as  much  horrified  as  we 
could  be." 

"  I  am  sure  she  is  a  right  honest  and  deserving  young 
woman,  whatever  her  ideas  on  government  may  be,"  said 
the  Cherokee,  doggedly. 

This  answer  did  not  please  Mrs.  Harrelston,  and  she 
filed  it  away  for  future  use  against  Pleasant. 

'>  One  is  compelled  to  exercise  great  care  in  the  choice 
of  acquaintances  in  these  large  capitals,"  she  remarked 
coldly  ;  but  the  observation  seemed  entirely  lost  on  Pleas- 
ant. She  determined  to  revenge  herself  for  his  iudiffer- 


296  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

ence  by  advising  Alice  to  retire  to  her  room,  under  the 
pretext  that  she  was  becoming  fatigued ;  but  just  as  she 
was  about  to  do  so  she  saw  that  the  Indian  was  bringing 
his  visit  to  a  close. 

While  Colonel  Cliff  was  moving  the  bouquet-stand  back 
to  its  original  position,  and  was  contemplating  the  ruin 
which  Pleasant  had  wrought  among  his  flowers,  the  young 
Cherokee  took  the  hand  which  Alice  extended  to  him,  and 
became  gently  engrossed  in  something  he  saw  in  her  eyes. 
He  would  not  have  released  the  soft  virginal  palm  for 
an  indefinite  period  had  not  Alice  confusedly  and  hastily 
signified  her  desire  that  he  should  return  to  his  senses. 
When  he  did  remember  where  he  was,  he  said  — 

"  You  are  very  tired  now,  and  I  am  afraid  that  I  have 
wearied  you."  His  voice  fell,  but  Alice  heard  all  that  he 
said.  "  If  you  could  know  what  joy  it  gives  me  to  see  that 
you  are  recovering  !  And  I  may  come  to-morrow,  or  the 
day  after  ?  ' ' 

"  We  shall  always  be  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Merrinott," 
said  Alice,  looking  at  her  mother  as  if  to  indicate  that  she 
desired  Mrs.  Ilarrelston's  confirmation  of  this  statement. 
But  that  lady  contented  herself  with  bidding  the  Indian 
good  morning,  and  after  he  had  gone,  bowing  formally, 
through  the  hall  door,  she  said  — 

"  Mr.  Merrinott  is  a  singular  person." 

"He  is  a  good  fellow,"  said  the  Colonel,  warmly. 
"  Innocent  of  the  world,  and  confiding.  Do  you  know,  I 
really  hope  he  will  not  get  into  the  hands  of  any  of  these 
clever  Russian  conspirators.  They  might  turn  his  head." 

"Do  you  think  there  is  any  danger  for  him?"  said 
Alice. 

"  Hum  !  I  don't  know.  Paris  is  full  of  snares  for  those 
who  arc  not  wary,"  answered  the  Colonel,  with  an  air  of 
fatherly  wisdom.  And  presently  he  took  his  leave  with  a 
certain  wistful  tenderness  in  his  manner,  which  did  not 


THE   WARNING.  297 

escape  Alice's  notice,  although  she  affected  not  to  per- 
ceive it. 

When  he  had  gone  Mrs.  Harrelston  left  Alice  alone  for 
a  few  minutes,  warning  her  that  she  would  soon  be  sum- 
moned to  retire.  The  girl  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and 
looked  out  over  the  pretty  garden,  at  that  moment  radiant 
with  sunshine.  Suddenly  a  figure  appeared  at  the  gate 
—  the  figure  of  an  old  man,  clad  in  a  shabb}'  great-coat, 
and  with  a  battered  hat  shading  his  face.  Alice  was  sur- 
prised to  see  him  pause,  remove  his  hat,  showing  vener- 
able features,  seamed  with  scars  and  wrinkles,  and  make  a 
low  bow,  evidently  intended  for  her.  She  at  once  remem- 
bered Bertine's  description  of  the  old  man  who  had  brought 
Vera's  bouquet,  and  murmured  to  herself,  "  It  must  be 
the  same  man  !  What  can  he  want  with  me ! ' ' 

The  patriarch  clapped  his  hat  on  again,  and  glanced 
behind  him  as  if  he  were  afraid  of  being  followed.  Then 
he  plunged  one  hand  into  a  pocket  of  his  ancient  coat, 
drew  forth  a  little  white  parcel  tied  with  a  red  string, 
pointed  at  Alice,  nodded  his  head  as  if  to  indicate  that  the 
bundle  was  for  her,  and  threw  it  into  the  garden,  where  it 
lodged  near  the  half-unearthed  roots  of  a  lilac-bush.  Alice 
followed  its  flight  from  his  hand  to  the  ground  with  her 
gaze,  and  then  glanced  up  at  the  gateway  again.  The  old 
man  was  gone. 

Bertine  came  in  at  that  moment  to  take  her  young  mis- 
tress's orders. 

"  Step  down  into  the  garden,  Bertine,".  said  Alice, 
"  and  bring  me  that  odd-looking  piece  of  paper  near  the 
lilac  tree." 

She  pointed  out  the  place,  and  spoke  imperiously,  so 
that  Bertine  understood  she  was  not  expected  to  display 
any  curiosity.  In  another  minute  Alice  held  the  missive 
in  her  hand. 

"  Now  ask  mamma  if  I  may  have  some  tea,"  she  said  ; 


298  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

"  I  feel  faint."  And  when  she  was  alone  again  she  tore 
open  the  letter.  For  it  was  merely  a  letter,  written  on  a 
large  piece  of  coarse  white  paper,  and  tied  instead  of 
sealed.  It  contained  these  words  in  English,  in  a  cramped, 
old-fashioned  script  — 

"  Beautiful  lady,  do  not  set  your  heart  upon  the  young 
Indian.  His  duty  and  his  inclination  will  lead  him  away 
from  you.  It  is  to  spare  you  pain  that  I  give  you  this 
warning.  Accept  it  as  from  a  friend,  and  do  not  trifle 
with  the  course  of  destiny.  If  it  becomes  necessar}*  for 
me  to  send  you  a  second  message,  I  will  use  means  to 
convince  you  of  the  wisdom  of  my  advice." 

There  was  no  signature.  The  English  spelling  was 
correct,  but  the  handwriting  was  evidently  that  of  a  for- 
eigner. Alice  could  hear  her  heart  beating  loudly  and 
with  unwonted  rapidity  as  she  folded  the  paper  and  placed 
it  carefully  in  her  pocket.  The  mystery  and  the  impudence 
of  the  warning,  and  the  anxiety  which  this  sudden  inter- 
ference of  a  stranger  in  her  as  yet  unexpressed  preferences 
aroused,  brought  with  them  new  strength.  Alice  felt  a 
keener  desire  than  ever  to  recover  her  health  that  she 
might  ferret  out  this  secret  adviser  and  get  at  the  motive 
of  the  advice  so  strangely  proffered.  She  shut  her  eyes 
and  tried  to  think  carefully,  but  she  was  surprised  to  find 
that  the  image  of  Mademoiselle  Vera  constantly  obtruded 
itself  upon  her  mental  vision. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

SAVE   ME ! 

ALICE  grew  better  so  fast  that  Mr.  Harrelston  daily 
congratulated  himself  upon  the  success  of  his  experiment, 
of  the  need  for  which  even  Mrs.  Harrelston  no  longer 
ventured  to  express  many  doubts.  The  anxious  mother  was 
somewhat  reconciled  to  her  husband's  radical  method  of 
treating  the  daughter's  malady,  because  she  fancied  that 
she  could  detect  in  the  demeanour  of  Alice  a  growing  cold- 
ness with  regard  to  Pleasant  Merriuott.  "  I  hope  she  is 
recovering  her  senses,"  was  the  mother's  thought.  And 
she  fell  to  studying,  more  earnestly  than  ever,  means  by 
which  she  might  render  what  she  was  pleased  to  consider 
Mr.  Merrinott's  plot  against  her  peace  of  mind  of  no  avail. 
There  was  but  one  thing  which  caused  her  to  hesitate 
in  her  counterplots,  and  this  was  a  mysterious  sadness  which 
seemed  to  have  fastened  upon  Alice's  usually  merry  and 
kindly  temperament.  In  company  the  girl  appeared  to 
have  recovered  her  old  spirits,  but  when  she  fancied  her- 
self alone  she  gave  way  to  profound  melancholy.  Her 
mother  took  measures  to  observe  her,  and  was  once  or 
twice  on  the  point  of  asking  for  an  explanation  of  these 
moods,  vaguely  fearing  that  they  might  proceed  from  some 
hidden  disastrous  cause  of  which  she  knew  nothing.  Yet 
each  time  that  she  had  fully  decided  to  bring  Alice  to  con- 

299 


300  THE   GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

fessiou,  she  remembered  that  her  daughter  had  always 
merited,  as  she  had  ever  enjoyed,  her  fullest  confidence, 
and  she  felt  as  if  to  question  her  were  wrong.  So  she 
watched  and  waited.  But  she  discovered  nothing. 

The  truth  was  that  Alice  was  fighting  a  great  battle  in 
her  soul.  She  could  not  fully  make  up  her  miud  to  doubt 
the  truth,  the  loyalty  of'  Pleasant's  devotion,  and  she  felt 
that  she  loved  him  more  than  tongue  could  tell.  Now  that 
she  had  become  familiar  with  his  originalities  she  liked 
them  better  than  the  polished  conventional  ways  of  the 
city-bred  young  and  old  men  who  came  to  her  father's 
house.  There  had  been  moments  when  Pleasant' s  pro- 
vincialism, his  rusticity,  had  offended  her  delicate  taste. 
At  times  she  had  ventured  to  think  that  she  might  find  his 
origin  and  his  peculiar  complexion  unpleasant,  and  a  trifle 
ridiculous,  when  she  saw  them  in  the  clear  and  refined 
atmosphere  of  Paris,  but  she  had  finally  laid  aside  all 
fears  on  that  score.  The  youthful  Cherokee  was  as 
romantic  and  impressive  in  the  capital  as  he  had  appeared 
when  she  first  beheld  him  in  Interlaken.  The  nameless 
charm  which  had  then  enthralled  her  heart,  and  held  it  a 
willing  captive  when  they  were  together  in  the  valley  of 
Meiringen,  was  as  powerful  as  as  first.  She  loved  the 
strange  contrasts  in  Pleasant's  nature,  the  almost  feminine 
weakness  which  he  manifested  at  times,  and  the  savage 
lack  of  restraint,  the  primitive  fearlessness  of  opinion  and 
consequences,  which  came  swiftly  in  defiance  of  the 
gentler  and  feebler  traits  in  his  complex  nature. 

But  yet  she  was  beginning  to  doubt,  and  she  suffered 
as  only  noble  natures  can  suffer.  She  did  not  distrust  his 
fidelity  to  herself ;  and  it  was  not  merely  the  dread  of  losing 
the  affection  which  he  surely  felt  for  her  that  wounded 
her  spirit.  It  was  a  growing  fear  that  he  was  in  danger 
of  proving  untrue  to  himself,  of  falling  into  some  snare, 
or  of  being  led  astray  and  made  the  instrument  of  design- 


SAVE  ME !  301 

ing  persons.  Of  course  she  was  ready  to  rise  against  the 
influence  which  was  likely  to  destroy  her  happiness  the 
moment  she  could  see  it  through  the  thick  darkness  which 
surrounded  her.  In  the  midst  of  this  darkness  there  was 
one  figure  which  constantly  stood  out  in  luminous  relief 
—  and  that  was  the  form  of  Vera.  "With  the  unerring 
feminine  instinct,  Alice  discerned  that  that  woman  could, 
if  she  willed  to  do  so,  wield  influence  over  Pleasant  Merri- 
uott,  and  she  trembled  as  she  thought  that  this  intruding 
stranger  could  blast  her  happiness  with  a  breath. 

It  happened  that  Pleasant,  who  had  become  a  privileged 
visitor  at  the  Harrelstons'  house,  found  Alice  alone  one 
afternoon,  although  Mrs.  Harrelston  generally  took  ample 
precautions  against  such  a  contingency.  Alice  was  in  the 
library,  dressed  for  a  ride  in  the  Bois,  and  trying  to  dis- 
tract her  attention  from  her  doubts  by  reading  one  of  the 
Paris  morning  papers  while  waiting  for  her  mother.  Her 
eyes  fell  upon  a  little  article  headed  "  The  Science  of 
Conspiracy,''  and,  without  knowing  exactly  why,  she  began 
to  read  it.  The  author  alluded  to  the  Nihilist  refugees 
from  Russia  then  supposed  to  be  at  work  in  Switzerland 
and  in  Paris,  perfecting  their  plans,  and  he  indulged  in 
a  classification  of  these  determined  conspirators  into  three 
classes.  Alice  slowly  conned  the  details.  Nihilists  in  class 
the  first,  it  appeared,  were  in  favour  of  a  purely  political 
revolution ;  Nihilists  in  class  the  second,  of  a  political 
revolution  followed  by  a  social  and  economical  one  ;  but 
Nihilists  in  class  the  third  —  and  these,  said  the  author, 
were  most  formidable  and  dangerous  —  desired  the  total 
overturning  of  the  present  order  of  things  and  an  absolute 
levelling  down.  "This  last-named  section,"  continued 
the  writer,  "  detests  the  past,  abhors  what  it  calls  archaic 
studies,  wishes  to  abolish  science,  demands  the  destruction 
of  monuments  and  libraries,  and  would  preserve  only  the 
useful  trades,  and  perhaps  not  all  of  those." 


302  THE   GENTLE  SAVA.GE. 

N 

"Dreamers!  they  are  mad!"  said  the  girl,  laying 
down  the  paper,  and  starting  violentl}'  as  she  heard  a  ring 
at  the  garden  gate,  and  looking  up  saw  the  young  Indian 
with  his  impatient  hand  on  the  latch. 

Pleasant  glanced  out  at  the  window  as  he  came  into  the 
library.  "  I  am  so  glad  to  find  you  alone,"  he  said  has- 
tily, coming  up  to  her  with  his  swift  noble  gait,  and  look- 
ing down  into  her  tender  face.  "Oh,  Alice !  tell  me 
quickly,  before  anyone  comes  to  interrupt  us,  what  I  have 
done  to  wound  you.  Have  I  hoped  in  vain  ?  I  feel  that 
you  are  right  angry  with  me." 

It  was  one  of  the  few  times  that  he  had  called  her 
' '  Alice ' '  since  the  memorable  night  on  the  terrace  at 
Berne,  and  the  sudden  endearing  familiarity,  which  he 
took  with  the  proud  unconsciousness  of  one  who  assume* 
his  right,  pleased  her  more  than  she  was  willing  to  admit. 

"Answer  me  !  "  he  said,  passionately.  "  I  cannot  sleep 
until  you  do.  If  I  should  lose  your  love  —  your  confi- 
dence —  I  may  say  your  love,  may  I  not,  Alice  ?  —  it 
would  drive  me  to  despair." 

She  had  been  looking  at  the  huge  bronze  on  her  father's 
writing-desk,  but  now  she  looked  up  at  him,  with  a 
startled  expression,  and  Pleasant' s  heart  bounded  joy- 
ously as  he  saw  that  there  were  teal's  in  her  eyes.  Her 
silence  was  more  eloquent  than  words. 

"  Speak,  Alice  !  "  said  Pleasant,  throwing  his  hat  upon 
a  chair,  as  she  had  seen  him  throw  it  many  times,  with  a 
gesture  as  if  he  were  preparing  for  a  struggle,  and  meant 
to  cast  aside  everything  that  annoyed  him.  "  Speak,  and 
set  my  mind  at  rest.  I  need  your  love  to-day  more  than 
I  ever  needed  it  before.  Without  it  I  should  be  so  weary 
of  the  world  that  I ' 

"  What  would  you  do?  "  said  the  girl,  breathlessly. 

"  I  don't  know  ;  something  desperate,  I  reckon.  Every- 
thing goes  wrong  in  this  wretched  world  ;  everything  here 


SAVE  ME !  303 

is  tainted  by  injustice  and  oppression  and  guilt ;  every- 
thing seems  lost,  unfit  to  endure  —  everything  except  you. 
If  there  was  ever  an  angel  on  earth,  it  is  you.  If  there 
was  ever  one  who  could  save  men,  it  is  you !  Oh,  Alice  ! 
save  me  ! ' ' 

This  plea  conquered  her.  She  was  in  his  arms,  on  his 
breast ;  his  kisses  were  on  her  brow,  her  eyes,  her  hair. 
She  was  glad  she  had  yielded.  She  was  proud  that  he 
could  draw  her  resistlessly  to  himself,  and  fold  her  in 
those  strong  arms,  which  held  her  so  gently  yet  so 
firmly. 

And  he  had  asked  her  to  save  him !  He  was  in  danger  ; 
some  secret  grief  weighed  upon  his  spirit.  In  his  inco- 
herent passion  he  had  spoken  the  very  prayer  of  his  soul, 
and  she  had  flown  to  answer  it.  Save  him  !  Save  him  ! 
Joy !  By  that  sign  she  would  conquer  any  and  every 
invisible  enemy  that  threatened  to  take  him  from  her  and 
to  do  him  deadly  harm  ! 

What  she  said  to  him  she  knew  not.  What  he  mur- 
mured as  he  held  her  in  his  embrace  she  heard  not.  Her 
whole  being  was  engrossed  in  the  mighty  joy  of  loving, 
of  being  loved.  In  those  consummate  moments  of  pure 
passion  when  two  virgin  hearts  are  made  one,  language 
gives  way  to  the  inarticulate ;  grammar  is  too  weak  to 
contain  the  emotions  which  burst  its  bonds  as  swollen 
torrents  break  down  barriers.  Their  lips  met  in  one  long- 
entrancing  final  kiss,  full  of  the  intoxication  of  youth  and 
love  and  joy,  and  then  Alice  released  herself,  not  without 
difficult}',  from  her  lover's  arms. 

As  she  turned,  with  paling  face,  to  the  window,  with  the 
thought  that  some  one  might  have  seen  Master  Pleasant' s 
frenzy  and  her  own  weakness,  the  memory  of  the  mys- 
terious letter  which  the  old  messenger  had  thrown  down 
beside  the  roots  of  the  lilac  tree  came  to  give  her  a  sharp 
pain.  Her  first  impulse  was  to  turn  to  Pleasant,  to  take 


304  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

the  letter  from  its  concealment  in  her  bosom,  to  hand  it 
to  him.  and  to  ask  him  what  it  meant.  Who  was  it  that 
dared  to  warn  her  not  to  accept  the  love  of  this  youth  who 
adored  her,  and  to  whom  her  heart  yearned?  She  must 
know !  Her  hand  strayed  to  the  letter's  hiding  place. 
In  another  moment  she  might  know  all. 

But  ere  that  moment  had  ended  there  was  a  light  foot- 
step in  the  hall,  a  timid  knock  at  the  library  door.  Pleas- 
ant turned  quick!}'  away  to  contemplate  the  garden  walk, 
and  Alice  was  arranging  her  bonnet-strings  before  a  tiny 
mirror  set  in  a  silver  frame  in  a  corner  of  the  mantel- 
piece, when  Miss  Caro  Merlin  entered.  She  understood 
the  situation  as  soon  as  Alice  turned  to  greet  her.  There 
was  a  radiance  upon  Miss  Harrelston's  lovely  face  which 
could  be  due  to  only  one  cause. 

"  Excuse  me,  Alice  dear,  for  popping  in  unannounced," 
said  Caro,  "but  no  one  came  to  answer  the  bell,  and, 
finding  the  garden  gate  ajar,  I  strayed  in." 

"Just  in  time  to  join  me  in  a  ride  in  the  Bois,"  said 
Alice,  recovering  her  self-possession,  and  hastening  to 
greet  Caro.  "The  garden  gate  ajar!  Mr.  Merrinott,  I 
fear  that  is  your  fault.  However,  as  it  has  spared  Miss 
Merlin  some  trouble,  you  are  forgiven.  But  where  are 
the  servants?  "  And  she  stepped  into  the  hall. 

She  came  back  presently,  and  stood  looking  at  Caro 
and  Pleasant,  who  were  chatting  together,  for  a  full  minute 
before  she  spoke.  It  was  as  if  she  were  making  up  her 
mind  whether  she  ought  to  speak  or  not.  At  last  she  said, 
with  a  forced  smile  — 

"An  adventure!  The  reason  that  j'ou  were  obliged 
to  wait,  Caro,  is  an  odd  one.  All  the  servants  are  in  the 
back  garden,  among  the  shrubbery,  hunting  for  a  strange 
man  who  has  strayed  in,  and  whom  the  coachman  thinks 
is  burglariously  inclined.  Mamma  is  watching  the  search 
from  an  upper  window  with  indignation  and  —  enthusiasm. 


SAVE  ME !  305 

And  the  maid-servants  are  so  frightened  that  I  suppose 
they  did  not  hear  the  bell." 

"A  burglar  !"  said  Caro.  "Mr.  Merrinott !  Do  go 
and  scalp  him  !  Be  romantic  !  " 

"  I  was  thinking,"  said  Pleasant,  speaking  slowly,  and 
in  a  troubled  way,  "  that  once  or  twice  on  my  road  here 
this  afternoon  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  was  followed  by  a 
man  I  had  never  seen  before.  His  movements  were  so 
curious  that  if  we  had  been  on  the  prairie  I  should  have 
made  him  pass  and  keep  ahead  of  me ;  but  I  was  not 
certain  that  that  sort  of  thing  would  work  here.  I  lost 
sight  of  him  just  as  I  entered  this  avenue." 

Alice  looked  puzzled.  The  conversation  turned  upon 
another  fruitful  topic  —  Mr.  Merrinott's  culpable  negli- 
gence in  not  having  visited  the  Merlins  more  than  once 
since  his  return  from  Switzerland. 

"  There's  no  man  in  the  garden  after  all,"  said  Mrs. 
Harrelston,  bustling  in,  equipped  for  the  drive.  "  Miss 
Caro,  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  Alice,  we  shall  take  her 
with  us.  Ah  !  Mr.  Merrinott !  You  are  unlucky  to-day  ; 
you  arrive  just  as  we  are  going  for  a  drive.  The  carriage 
is  at  the  gate.  Will  you  forgive  us  ?  It  is  such  a  rare 
afternoon  !  Now,  Alice  dear,  are  you  well  wrapped  up?" 
And  Alice's  mother  had  the  young  ladies  on  the  way  to 
the  carriage  before  the  Indian  had  finished  his  rather  con- 
fused apologies,  had  signalled  an  eloquent  good-bye  to 
Alice,  and  had  got  twenty  yards  down  the  street. 

Alice  found  herself  looking  carefully  at  the  lilac  tree  as 
she  passed  it,  for  she  could  not  help  believing  that  the  re- 
ported apparition  in  the  garden  had  some  connection  with 
another  anonymous  message  for  her.  But  no  paper  was 
there.  She  talked  with  a  merriment  that  she  did  not  feel  as 
she  reclined  on  the  soft  cushions  of  the  roomy  open  carriage, 
and  felt  the  gentle  October  breeze  fanning  her  temples. 

Caro,  seated  opposite  her,  was  curiously  silent,  for  she 


306  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

knew  not  what  to  say.  She  had  come  to  the  Harrelston'a 
that  afternoon  determined  to  confer  with  Alice  on  the  sub- 
ject of  Mademoiselle  Vera.  Caro  had  become  convinced 
that  that  extraordinary  young  woman  had  been  the  object 
of  minute  investigation  on  the  part  of  Colonel  Cliff  since 
she  had  talked  with  him  about  her,  and  that  some  odd 
reason  prevented  him  from  telling  her  the  result  of  his  in- 
quiries. "  Perhaps  he  has  told  Alice,"  thought  the  girl; 
"  or  if  he  has  not,  perhaps  Pleasant  Merrinott,  who  sees 
so  much  of  Mademoiselle  Vera,  has  done  so.  I  must  ask 
her."  So  she  had  forthwith  deserted  her  studies,  taken  a 
cab,  and  hastened  to  Alice,  to  find  her  alone  with  the 
young  Indian.  Caro  felt  that  it  would  not  be  delicate  or 
proper  to  bring  up  the  subject  of  Pleasant's  relations  to 
Vera  on  that  particular  afternoon,  so  she  contented  herself 
with  answering  Mi's.  Harrelstou's  questions  about  her 
debut  at  La  Vange's  concert,  which  was  to  occur  ten  days 
sooner  than  originally  intended. 

' '  I  tremble  when  I  think  of  the  twenty-first  of  October 

—  that  is  the  date  now,"  said  Miss  Merlin  ;  "  and  as  for 
ma,  I'm  afraid  she  will  have  hysterics  before  all  the  prep- 
arations are  finished.     You  see  so  much  depends  on  it,  for 
if  I  succeed  I  am  sure  to  be  engaged  to  make  my  d&but  in 
the  London  spring  season.    In  London.    Think  of  it !    Oh 
dear !     I  am  afraid  it  is  a  magnificent  dream." 

"Not  at  all,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Harrelston,  kindly. 
"Let  us  hope,  on  the  contrary,  that  it  will  be  a  superb 
reality.  Eric  shall  send  for  a  box  for  us  to-morrow.  And 
does  Monsieur  Stanislas  continue  to  prophesy  good  things 
for  you  ?  ' ' 

"  He  does,  indeed,"  said  Caro,  blushing;  "and  Melari 
says  that  Stanislas,  in  spite  of  his  youth  and  his  enthusiasm 

—  because  you  know  he  is  famous  for  the  latter  quality — is 
one  of  the  best  judges  in  Europe.    But  I  don't  know " 

She   sighed   and   looked   down.     They  came  into   the 


SAVE.,  ME  !  307 

throng  and  were  soon  moving  slowly  around  the  lake  in 
company  with  the  thousands  of  good,  bad,  and  indifferent 
folk  who  go  out  to  the  famous  wood  to  see  and  to  be 
seen.  Mrs.  Harrelston  watched  the  movements  of  an 
elderly  English  woman  who  that  day  made  herself  the  ob- 
served of  all  observers  by  driving  a  pair  of  high-stepping 
bay  horses,  and  handling  the  reins  as  if  she  had  been; 
bred  to  the  art.  Caro  languidly  gazed  at  the  flocks  of 
gabbling  ducks,  engaged  in  their  eternal  dispute  with  the 
white  swans  on  the  sward  by  the  lake ;  and  Alice  was 
scanning  the  quadruple  rank  of  luxurious  vehicles  and 
the  variegated  assemblage  of  ladies  of  every  rank  in  the 
social  scale  when,  standing  on  the  walk  next  the  outer 
rank,  in  which  the  Harrelston  carriage  was  slowly  trun- 
dling along,  and  so  near  that  he  could,  if  he  chose,  place 
his  hand  upon  her  arm  when  she  came  up  to  him,  the 
girl  saw  the  old  man  with  the  scarred  and  wrinkled  face 

—  the  aged  messenger  who  had  left  her-  the  anonymous 
note  of  warning.     His  recognition  was-,  as  instant  as  her 
own ;    he  had  evidently  learned  of  her  intention  to  ride 
in  the  Bois,  and  awaited  her  there.     Her  curiosity  to  see 
what  he  would  do  was  so  great  that  it  quite  vanquished 
her  sense  of  repulsion  and  fright,  and  she  leaned  forward, 
observing  his  movements.      The  old  man  quickly  took 
from  one  of  the  pockets  of  his  greasy  coat  a  bundle  of 
printed  papers,  which  he  began  coolly  to  distribute  to  the 
occupants  of  the  carriages  directly  preceding  that  of  the 
Harrelstons.     Alice  held  her  breath  as  she  came  face  to< 
face  with  the  old  man.     He  raised  his  eyes  to  hers  with 
a  gentle   expression,   in  which  there  was  something   of 
entreaty,  and  laid  a  paper  upon  her  lap. 

"What  is  that,  daughter?"  said  Mrs.  Harrelstom. 
"  Some  advertisement,  I  suppose.  Do  throw  it  away.  I 
thought  it  was  forbidden  to  annoy  people  with  circulars 

—  and  things  —  in  the  Bois." 


308  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

"Yes,  mamma,"  said  Alice,  whose  hand  had  closed 
tightly  upon  a  note  tied  with  red  cord,  like  the  first  one 
that  she  had  received,  and  artfully  concealed  under  the 
other  paper,  "  it  is  a  circular.  Annexe  de  la  Banqne  des 
Indes.  What  impudence  !  "  And  she  cast  it  out  to  flutter 
down  to  the  sand  in  the  road.  A  moment  afterward  she 
managed  to  transfer  the  small  note  to  her  pocket  without 
attracting  attention. 

That  ride  seemed  interminable  to  Alice.  When  they 
were  once  more  at  home,  and  while  Mrs.  Harrelston  was 
urging  Caro  to  stay  to  dinner,  the  girl  managed  to  escape 
to  her  own  room  for  a  few  minutes.  She  tore  open  the 
missive  and  read  it  through  two  or  three  times.  It  was 
written  in  the  same  foreign  chirography  as  the  other,  and 
contained  these  words  :  — 

"  Beautiful  lady,  as  you  did  not  take  notice  of  my  first 
warning,  forgive  me  for  sending  you  another.  I  told  you 
that  I  would  convince  you  of  the  wisdom  of  my  advice 
that  you  should  not  set  your  heart  upon  the  young  Ameri- 
can. If  you  will  come  to  the  address  written  below,  to- 
night or  to-morrow  night,  between  ten  and  eleven  o'clock, 
I  will  show  you  something  that  will  teach  you  how  useless 
it  is  to  interfere  with  the  course  of  destiny.  You  need 
not  be  afraid  to  come  alone  ;  or  you  can  bring  your  maid 
with  you  if  you  like ;  you  will  be  in  no  danger  from  an 
old  man  who  is  earnest  in  his  wish  to  spare  you  pain,  and 
to  show  you  why  your  choice  is  not  wise." 

At  the  bottom  of  the  sheet  was  the  name  of  a  street, 
of  which  Alice  had  never  heard,  and  the  number  "  41." 

The  girl  sat  down  in  a  fauteuil  and  tried  to  consider 
calmly  what  it  was  best  to  do.  Thes*  anonymous  letters 
did  not  come  from  Mademoiselle  Vera,  then?  Of  this 
there  no  longer  seemed  any  doubt.  Alice  felt  as  if  this 
conviction  afforded  her  great  relief.  What  could  she  do? 

The  fire  of  resolution  shone  in  her  dark  eyes,  and  she 


SAVE  ME!  309 

rose  up  with  the  air  of  one  thoroughly  resolved  upon  a 
great  effort  for  success. 

"  He  asked  me  to  save  him,  and  I  will  save  him  !  "  she 
whispered,  as  she  rang  the  bell  for  Bertine,  and  began  to 
prepare  for  dinner.  "  I  will  go  to  the  old  man's  rendez- 
vous this  very  night,  and  I  will  know  all !  " 

Had  that  venerable  apostle  of  destruction,  Ignatius, 
the  Jewish  instrument  maker,  whom  Pleasant  had  seen 
with  Stanislas  and  Vera  in  Berne,  and  who  had  been 
watching  Pleasant's  movements  ever  since,  realized  that 
instead  of  frightening  Alice  into  relinquishing  her  attach- 
ment to  the  young  Indian,  he  had,  by  his  anonymous 
appeals  to  her,  made  her  a  thousand  times  more  resolved 
than  ever  to  cling  to  Pleasant,  and  to  rescue  him  from  any 
peril  that  threatened,  he  would  have  admitted  that  for 
once  he  had  not  shown  that  knowledge  of  human  nature 
which  is  reasonably  to  be  expected  of  an  arch-conspirator. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

TRIAJL   AND    PARTING. 

WHEN  Alice  came  downstairs,  and  learned  that  Caro  had 
decided  to  stay  to  dinner,  and  that  her  father  and  mother 
were  going  to  the  opera,  her  eyes  shone  more  brightly  than 
ever.  Her  plan  was  instantly  formed.  The  early  dinner 
was  unceremonious,  and  quickly  served,  as  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Harrelston  wished  to  be  in  their  Idge  for  the  first  act  of  La 
Juive.  Alice  talked  but  little,  and  Caro  attributed  her 
reticence  to  her  preoccupation  with  her  love.  Poor  little 
Miss  Merlin  would  have  given  the  world  to  have  thrown 
her  arms  around  Alice's  neck,  and  to  have  passed  an  hour 
in  confessing  and  hearing  confession  of  the  joys  and  pains 
which  love  awakens  in  maidens'  hearts,  but  something  told 
her  that  Alice  was  in  no  mood  to  confess  Just  yet.  u  She 
will  tell  me  by-aud-by,"  thought  Misa  Merlin  ;  "  she  can't 
keep  it  to  herself." 

Over  dessert  Alice  talked  a  bit  about  her  health, 
announced  that  her  recovery  was  complete,  that  she  felt 
stronger  than  ever,  and  believed  the  fever  had  been  a 
beneficent  visitor.  Mr,  and  Mrs.  Harrelston  exchanged 
glances,  and  it  was  easy  to  see  that  they  were  delighted 
at  what  Alice  had  said. 

"  But  you  must  not  be  prodigal  of  your  new  strength, 
daughter,"  Haid  the  banker.     "And,  above  all,  be  careful 
not  to  venture  into  the  night  air," 
310 


TEIAL  AND   PASTING.  311 

"  Qh,  you  are  too  careful  of  me,  papa,"  said  Alice,  who 
felt  very  guilty,  but  went  ou  forming  her  plan  with  great 
determination. 

"  Let  Caro  have  the  coupe,  and  let  Bertine  accompany 
her  home,  when  her  visit  is  ended,"  said  Mrs.  Harrelston 
to  Alice,  as  she  rang  for  her  own  carnage.  "  And  now, 
young  ladies,  don't  prolong  your  gossip  until  a  late  hour. 
Miss  Caro,  keep  up  courage  about  your  debut.  Alice,  if 
you  are  not  asleep  when  I  return,  I  shall  have  to  scold 
you.  Good  night." 

Before  the  sound  of  the  carriage-wheels  had  died  away 
in  the  distance,  Alice  had  summoned  Bertine  to  her  rooms, 
leaving  Caro  idly  turning  over  music-books  at  the  piano 
in  a  little  parlour.  Alice  closed  the  door,  and  laid  her 
hand  lightly  on  her  maid's  shoulder. 

"Bertine,"  she  said,  impulsively,  "tu  m'aimes,  n'est 
ce  pas  ? ' ' 

Bertine  stared  at  her  young  mistress  for  a  moment, 
and  then,  in  her  quaint  German-French,  at  once  asseverated 
that  she  would  cut  off  her  right  hand,  or  walk  a  thousand 
leagues,  to  please  Mademoiselle  Alice.  Furthermore,  she 
did  not  know  what  she  could  have  done  to  displease 
Mademoiselle  ;  and  she  began  to  wring  her  apron,  to  twist 
her  shoulders,  and  to  cry. 

"  Dry  j-our  eyes,  you  foolish  girl,"  said  Alice.  "  Bertine, 
I  am  going  to  do  something  to-night  which  may  seem 
strange,  imprudent,  wrong,  to  you,  or  to  any  one  else  who 
hears  of  it.  I  wish  you  to  accompany  me,  to  help  me, 
and  to  say  nothing  about  it  to  any  living  soul,  except 
Guillaume,  the  coachman.  Do  you  hear?  " 

"  Mon  Dieu,  Mademoiselle!  What  are  you  going  to 
do?"  stammered  Bertine,  before  whose  eyes  flashed  a 
terrifying  vision  of  the  dark-faced  Indian  eloping  with 
her  mistress  in  hasty  and  melodramatic  fashion.  Then, 
without  waiting  for  an  answer,  and  wiping  her  eyes,  she 


312  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

added,  stoutly,  "But  whatever  Mademoiselle  does,  and 
wherever  she  goes,  she  can  count  on  me." 

"  Thank  you,  Bertine.  We  shall  do  nothing  of  which 
we  need  be  ashamed,  but  it  may  look  a  little  odd.  Now 
listen.  When  Miss  Merlin  goes  home,  you  and  I  will 
accompany  her  in  the  carriage.  We  will  not  get  out  at 
her  house,  but  as  soon  as  we  have  bidden  her  good  night, 
Guillaume  must  drive  rapidly  away.  Only  instead  of 
coming  back  here,  he  must  hurry  as  fast  as  he  can  to  — 
to  —  She  took  the  anonymous  letter  from  her  pocket 

and  glanced  at  the  address  of  old  Ignatius.  "  To  the  Rue 
—  I  will  copy  it  for  you  ;  it's  such  an  odd  name  —  No.  41 ; 
and  he  must  wait  for  us  at  the  corner  of  the  street  until 
we  return.  It  is  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Luxembourg. 
We  shall  be  at  the  No.  41  only  a  few  minutes,  and  then 
he  must  drive  us  back  as  quickly  as  he  possibly  can,  so 
that  we  can  be  at  home  long  before  mother  and  father 
return  from  the  opera.  Do  you  understand?  Don't  stand 
staring  at  me  like  that !  It  is  an  errand  of  charity  that 
we  are  going  on  —  only  —  it  must  be  kept  a  profound 
secret.  Go  and  tell  Guillaume,  and  mind  that  he  says 
not  a  word  to  any  of  the  other  servauts." 

"Yes,  Mademoiselle,"  said  Bertine,  taking  a  slip  of 
written  paper  which  her  mistress  handed  her,  and  staring 
rather  wildly.  "Is  Mademoiselle  not  afraid  to  go  away 
over  the  river  a  — 

"Bertine!  Go  and  give  the  instructions,  and  that 
paper  to  Guillaume,  and  be  ready  to  start." 

Alice  returned  to  Caro,  and  was  so  bright  and  enter- 
taining for  an  hour,  that  Miss  Merlin  was  loth  to  depart. 
But  when  the  clock  struck  nine  she  arose. 

"  I  must  go,  dear,"  she  said.  "  At  ten  ma  would  have 
a  fit.  She  has  an  idea  that  Paris  is  a  place  in  which  a 
young  woman  is  in  constant  danger  of  abduction." 

"  Must  you  go?"  said  Miss  Harrclston.     "Well,  the 


TRIAL  AND   PAETING.  313 

carriage  will  be  at  the  door  in  a  few  minutes,  and  I  will 
drive  with  you  to  your  door.  I  shall  have  Bertine  for  my 
escort  back,  and  the  sight  of  the  streets  will  do  me  good." 

"Oh,  Alice,  I  shall  not  hear  of  such  a  thing,"  said 
Caro,  looking  quite  terrified.  "What  would  your  mother 
sa}'  ?  And  the  night  air  !  ' ' 

"  Fudge  !  "  said  Alice.  "  Not  a  breath  of  air  can  get 
into  that  coup6  of  ours  —  it's  a  dreadfully  ill- ventilated  old 
thing.  And  I  want  to  ride  after  Alzor,  the  new  horse  — 
who  goes  like  the  wind.  Papa  drives  to  the  bank  with 
him  in  fifteen  minutes." 

The  carriage  was  called ;  Bertine  appeared  bearing 
various  dark-coloured  wraps,  and  a  black  lace  shawl,  and 
Alice  and  Caro,  comfortably  installed  in  the  richly  fur- 
nished coupe,  with  the  little  maid  nestling  on  a  stool  in 
front  of  them,  were  soon  whirling  across  the  city  in  the 
direction  of  Caro's  residence.  The  new  horse  Alzor  was 
certainly  a  treasure  ;  his  twinkling  hoofs  made  mock  of 
space  ;  the  carriage  flew  down  the  long  wooded  avenue  in 
the  Bois,  past  the  mansions  around  the  Triumphal  Arch, 
down  the  Avenue  de  la  Reine  Hortense,  and  had  turned 
the  corners  of  the  Pare  Monceau,  and  was  n earing  Mont- 
martre  before  Alice  could  collect  her  thoughts.  Caro 
looked  sharply  at  her  companion  once  or  twice.  She 
fancied  that  she  could  hear  Alice's  heart  beating  loudly, 
and  she  began  to  imagine  that  there  was  something  wrong  ; 
but  just  as  she  was  about  to  ask,  impulsively,  a  leading 
question,  Alice  clapped  her  hands,  praised  Alzor's  speed 
so  merrily,  and  seemed  so  natural  once  more,  that  Miss 
Merlin's  suspicions  were  disarmed. 

Alzor's  ardour  was  a  trifle  calmed  by  the  extremely 
steep  hill  up  which  he  had  to  draw  the  carriage  before 
reaching  the  Rue  de  1'Orieut,  and  when  he  stopped  at 
Mrs.  Merlin's  gate  he  blew  a  blast  from  his  nostrils  which 
was  loud  enough  to  have  alarmed  all  the  neighbourhood, 


314  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

and  which  brought  Caro's  mother  out  of  the  shadow  of 
a  tree  where  she  had  been  nervously  waiting  the  girl's 
return. 

"Mercy!  what's  that?"  said  Mrs.  Merlin,  coming  to 
the  carriage  window.  "Is  that  boss  possessed  of  a  demon  ? 
Caro !  Oh  !  it's  reel  good  of  them  to  send  you  home  in 
a  kerridge.  What,  Alice !  Well  enough  to  be  out  o' 
nights.  Come  right  in.  Caro,"  she  said,  lowering  her 
voice,  "  Stanislas  is  up  in  your  study-room,  a  playin'  fit 
to  draw  tears  out  of  the  walls.  He's  mortal  distracted 
and  worried  about  something.  I  give  him  a  right  broad 
hint  to  go,  but  he  said  he  would  stay  until  you  come  in." 

Alice  found  it  hard  to  decline  Mrs.  Merlin's  pressing 
invitation  to  "  come  in  and  stay  long  enough  to  take  a  cup 
of  tea.  Afraid  your  mother'll  come  back  and  find  you 
out?  Well,  she  won't  scold  you  any  more  for  an  hour  'n 
she  will  for  half  an  hour,  will  she?  I'm  sure  you're  very 
kind  to  bring ' ' 

Guillaume  reiued  the  demon-horse  Alzor  round  about, 
the  creature's  hoofs  clattered  on  the  stones,  and  the 
carriage  was  whirling  away  before  Mrs.  Merlin  had 
finished  her  sentence. 

"  I  wonder  if  Alice  ain't  jest  a  leetle  stuck  up  now  and 
then  ? ' '  was  her  reflection  as  she  followed  her  daughter  in. 

Alice's  heart  beat  more  loudly  than  ever  as  the  carriage 
flashed  along  the  precipitous  descent  of  the  Rue  Lepic, 
awakening  angry  comments  from  the  bare-headed  work- 
women, who  narrowly  escaped  immolation  by  Alzor  as 
they  wearily  climbed  homeward,  and  as  the  light  vehicle 
rolled  down  the  Rue  Blanche,  through  the  Place  de  la 
Trinit^,  and  away  to  the  grand  boulevards.  As  she  passed 
the  Opera  she  looked  at  her  watch.  It  was  a  quarter  to 
ten.  "  If  mamma  should  take  a  sudden  fancy  to  return 
home  before  the  Opera  is  over,  what  a  scene  is  in  store  for 
me  !  "  thought  the  girl.  But  then  arose  the  all-absorbing 


TEIAL   AND   PARTING.  315 

thought  of  her  mission.  There  was  a  secret  to  unravel — 
a  man  to  save  from  some  mysterious  danger.  Should  she 
not  make  one  earnest  effort  to  protect  her  love?  Who 
could  blame  her? 

She  grew  bolder  as  she  approached  the  scene  of  the 
meeting,  which  was  perhaps  to  be  of  capital  importance  to 
her  future  peace  and  happiness.  Her  lips  were  firmly 
closed ;  her  eyes  shone  like  twin  stars ;  the  heavenly 
colour  came  into  her  cheeks — the  real  rose  of  the  dawn  — 
appropriate  enough,  for  a  great  resolve  was  dawning  in 
her  spirit.  She  knew  not  whom  she  was  to  meet,  or  what 
she  was  to  say,  but  she  felt  confident  that  she  was  to  find 
out  how  to  save  Pleasant  Merrinott  from  becoming  the 
dupe  of  conspirators  —  from  sacrificing  his  future,  from 
being  drawn  away  from  her ! 

The  Rue  de  la  Paix — the  Place  Vendome —  a  panoramic 
glimpse  of  the  arcades  of  the  Rue  de  Rivoli  —  a  rattle  over 
the  half-deserted  spaces  of  the  Place  du  Carrousel  —  a  look 
into  the  smoothly  flowing  Seine  from  the  arch  of  a  bridge  — 
then  a  long  whirl  through  narrow,  ill-smelling,  and  poorly 
lighted  streets !  Alice  began  to  feel  as  if  her  courage 
would  ebb  away.  She  grasped  Bertine's  hand  so  tightly 
that  the  poor  girl  winced.  Her  head  was  hot,  and  it 
seemed  to  her  as  if  the  passers-by  turned  around  to  stare 
after  her  and  to  comment  upon  her  extraordinary  conduct. 
One  of  the  wheels  struck  a  loose  stone  and  gave  the  carnage 
a  severe  shaking.  Alice  sprang  up  from  her  seat,  trembling 
in  every  limb.  Then  she  sank  down  again,  drawing  the 
black  lace  shawl  over  her  head  and  concealing  her  face, 
and  so  she  remained,  leaning  back  in  a  corner,  with 
Bertine's  quizzical  and  half-terrified  eyes  looking  up  at 
her,  until  the  carriage  stopped.  Her  heart  gave  a  great 
bound  as  Guillauine  opened  the  door. 

"  Mademoiselle  will  perhaps  find  it  better  that  I  should 
wait  here,  as  the  street  is  very  narrow,  aiid  a  carriage  like 


316  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

ours  is  a  rare  sight  in  these  parts,"  said  the  coachman, 
whose  grave,  impassive  face  betrayed  no  curiosity,  and 
would  have  manifested  none  had  he  been  convinced  that 
he  were  driving  to  a  rendezvous  of  witches  or  demons. 
"  This  is  the  street,  and  the  odd  numbers  are  on  the  right 
side.  Forty-one  ;  it  is  not  far.  Shall  I  step  and  see?  " 

"  No,  thank  you  !  Come,  Bertine  !  "  said  Alice,  cour- 
ageously stepping  down  from  the  carriage  and  glancing 
around  her.  "  Guillaume,  don't  stir  from  this  spot  until 
I  return !  How  long  will  it  take  you  to  drive  home 
swiftly?" 

"  Half  an  hour,  Mademoiselle.     It  is  a  long " 

"We  shall  come  back  in  a  few  minutes."  And  the 
figures  of  the  two  girls  glided  into  the  shadows  which 
overhung  the  mean-looking  street. 

Guillaume  watched  them  until  they  disappeared  in  a 
doorway.  Then  he  climbed  back  to  his  seat,  and  began 
to  wonder  what  it  all  meant.  He  had  been  sitting  there 
but  a  few  moments  when  a  circumstance  occurred  which 
set  him  to  wondering  more  earnestly,  and  caused  him 
serious  annoyance.  A  black-looking  fellow  in  a  silk  cap 
and  a  blue  blouse  loomed  up,  seemingly  out  of  nowhere, 
beside  Alzor's  head,  and  put  out  his  hand  as  if  to  fondle 
the  high-spirited  animal. 

"  Look  out  for  your  claws,  my  ancient ;  my  horse  bites," 
said  Guillauine,  in  the  familiar  and  contemptuous  language 
of  the  street. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  tell  me,  my  fine  fellow,  whose  car- 
riage this  is,"  said  the  man  in  the  blouse,  in  a  soft,  caress- 
ing voice. 

"  Perhaps  I  will  not,"  said  Guillaume.  "  And  you  just 
move  away  from  my  horse's  head.  The  butt  end  of  my 
whip  is  hard." 

The  man  in  the  blouse  laughed  aloud.  "  You  won't 
tell  us,  won't  you?  You  are  original,  as  original  as  a 


TRIAL  AND   PARTING.  317 

porcelain  dog.  Never  mind,  my  hearty,  we  shall  know 
soon  enough  without  any  of  your  aid.  But  thank  you  all 
the  same."  And  he  disappeared. 

"  Un  mouchard!"*  said  Guillaume,  in  dismay  and 
under  his  breath.  "  Now,  what  does  this  all  mean?  This 
is  what  one  gets  himself  into  by  working  for  strangers. 
B-r-r-r  !  I  feel  cold  all  down  my  back  !  " 

Alice  and  Bertine  stopped  a  moment,  breathless  and 
hot,  as  they  entered  the  dark  passage-way  in  the  old  house 
on  which  the}-  saw  the  mysterious  number,  "41."  Alice 
thought  that  she  saw  a  figure  stir  in  a  corner,  and  she 
drew  back,  instinctively  putting  out  both  hands  as  if  to 
protect  herself.  "Who  am  I  to  ask  for?  There  is  no 
porter's  lodge  here.  How  am  I  to  know?  I  shall  faint 
if  I  have  to  wait  in  this  dreadful  place ! ' '  These  were 
her  thoughts,  and  by  the  timorous  manner  in  which 
Bertine  clung  to  her  skirts  she  learned  that  small  depend- 
ence was  to  be  placed  on  the  poor  maid.  She  felt  her  way 
to  the  wall  and  leaned  against  it,  trying  to  resolve  on  a 
course  of  action.  Just  then  she  heard  the  sound  of  foot- 
steps slowly  descending  a  flight  of  stairs,  which  she  could 
not  see. 

"Oh,  Mademoiselle!"  whispered  Bertine,  and  she 
turned  to  fly,  but  Alice  caught  her  by  her  wrist,  and  held 
her. 

The  footsteps  came  nearer.  There  was  the  feeble 
twinkle  of  a  candle,  and  in  a  moment  Alice  saw  that  she 
stood  at  the  foot  of  a  tortuous  and  blackened  stone  stair- 
way, such  as  one  sees  only  in  the  ancient  houses  in  the 
most  venerable  quarters  of  Paris.  Just  at  the  turning 
of  the  stairs  stood  the  old  man  who  had  given  her  the  two 
warnings.  He  was  protecting  the  glimmering  flame  of 
his  caudle  with  his  hand,  and  although  he  peered  forward, 
Alice  felt  sure  that  he  did  not  see  her. 
*  A  police  spy. 


318  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

"Was  I  mistaken?"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  as  if  to 
himself,  but  in  English.  "  Or  did  I  hear  some  one  in- 
quiring forme?"  Then  he  bent  his  head  and  listened 
intently. 

Before  she  answered  Alice  looked  very  carefully  at 
him.  It  did  not  seem  to  her  that  there  was  anj-thing  to 
fear  from  that  feeble  old  creature,  whose  face,  framed  as 
it  was  in  the  darkness  all  about  it,  and  brought  out 
strongly  by  the  candle-light  close  to  it,  would  have  done 
well  enough  for  the  picture  of  some  aged  saint,  had  there 
not  been  a  mingled  expression  of  sternness  and  cunning 
at  the  lips. 

""Well,"  thought  Alice,  "  I  am  my  father's  daughter. 
I  have  heard  him  say  that  he  never  knew  what  fear  was. 
Let  me  see  if  I  can  summon  up  a  little  of  his  courage." 
She  stepped  forward,  and  answering  in  English,  said  — 

"  Perhaps  you  heard  us  come  in,  sir?  " 

An  expression  of  real  joy  flitted  over  the  old  man's 
face.  "  I  am  glad  that  you  have  been  kind  enough  to 
come,  daughter,"  he  said.  "You  are  the  lady  to  whom 
I  gave  the  note  to-day,  are  you  not?  " 

"lam." 

"Step  up  this  way,  please.  Ah!  you  are  not  alone. 
Oh  !  it  is  your  maid,  I  suppose.  Come  up  two  flights ; 
you  have  nothing  to  fear ;  and  I  will  not  detain  you 
long." 

He  held  the  light  forward,  and  stood  aside  on  the 
narrow  stone  stairs  to  let  Alice  and  Bertine  pass.  His 
courtesy  was  ceremonious,  and  Alice  liked  the  sound  of 
the  English  as  he  spoke  it,  with  a  certain  primness  which 
betokened  the  foreigner  who  was  determined  to  get  every- 
thing right. 

After  some  stumbling,  Alice  found  her  way  through 
a  low  door  into  an  humble  room,  scrupulously  clean,  and 
very  decently  furnished.  The  tiles  of  the  floor  were  red, 


TKIAL  AND  PARTING.  319 

and  gave  a  pleasant  sheen  under  the  flame  of  two  candles 
burning  in  a  rusty  candelabra  on  the  table.  In  one  corner 
stood  a  small  work-bench,  covered  with  tools,  and  beneath 
it  were  boxes  and  baskets  filled  with  bits  of  iron,  brass, 
and  copper.  The  old  man  came  in  behind  Bertine,  passed 
through  the  room  into  another  one  at  the  side,  left  his 
candle  there,  and  returned.  Then  he  gravely  motioned 
Alice  to  take  a  seat  in  a  roomy  wooden  arm-chair,  and 
beckoning  to  Bertine,  he  said  in  French,  with  a  smile, 
"  Can  you  read?  " 

Bertine  answered  very  decidedly  that  she  could. 

"Well,  as  what  I  have  to  say  to  your  mistress  is 
private,  would  you  mind  stepping  into  the  next  room? 
You  will  find  a  light  and  some  books  on  the  table.  You 
can  leave  the  door  ajar,  and  when  I  have  said  what  I  have 
to  say,  I  will  call  you." 

Alice  was  about  to  protest,  but  she  rallied  her  courage, 
and  made  a  sign  to  Bertine  that  she  was  to  obey.  There 
was  nothing  gruesome  in  this  nook  in  a  remote  quarter 
of  Paris ;  one  of  the  long  windows  in  the  thick  wall  was 
open,  and  through  it  Alice  could  see  the  October  moon- 
light shining  on  some  vines  on  a  high  trellis.  There  were 
flowers  on  the  table ;  a  Paris  evening  paper  and  one  or 
two  German  books  were  within  reach  of  Alice's  hand. 
"When  Bertine  had  disappeared  behind  the  door  of  the 
other  room,  the  old  man  carefully  closed  the  one  opening 
on  to  the  stairs,  and  then  turning  with  almost  mournful 
look  to  her,  he  said  — 

"  My  child,  I  will  be  very  plain  and  very  brief.  You 
are  j'ouug,  lovely,  accomplished,  rich,  and  happy.  You 
live  a  life  that  to  millions  of  poorer  people  would  seem  an 
ideal  one.  But  shadows  fall  across  the  sunniest  spots. 
You  see,  my  daughter,"  he  added,  almost  apologetically, 
"I  know  a  great  deal  about  life.  I  have  endured  it.  I 
think  I  could  give  advice,  often,  very  often,  which  would 


320  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

save  from  much  suffering.  And  so  I  have  made  bold  to 
offer  to  advise  you,  to  warn  you.  Will  you  forgive  me?  " 

"How  can  I  forgive  you  when  I  do  not  understand 
you?"  said  Alice,  who  was  quite  calm  now,  and  who  felt 
that  the  crucial  moment  was  at  hand.  "  What  do  you 
mean?  What  interest  have  you  to  warn  me?  As  you 
wish  plainness  of  speech,  let  me  help  you  to  it."  Here 
her  heart  suddenly  began  beating  violently  again,  as  if 
astonished  at  its  owner's  boldness.  "  You  have  given  me 
a  written  warning  not  to  place  my  "affection  upon  Mr. 
Pleasant  Merrinott.  Now,  what  is  he  to  you?  How  run 
it  matter  to  you  what  he  does,  or  whom  he  loves?  Answer 
me  that,  and  then  we  shall  comprehend  each  other  better." 

The  old  man  sat  down  by  the  table,  and  leaned  his 
elbows  on  it,  shielding  his  wrinkled  face  with  his  two 
hands. 

"The  answer,"  he  said,  "is  simple  enough.  Three 
months  ago  the  young  Indian  was  no  more  to  me  than 
any  passer  in  the  street  might  be.  But  since  that  time 
Fate  has  thrown  him  in  our  way.  Fate  meant  him  for 
one  of  us  —  and  he  has  joined  his  fortunes  to  ours.  Do 
I  need  to  tell  you  who  and  what  we  are? " 

"  No,  you  do  not !  You  are  conspirators  !  Misguided, 
unfortunate  people,  and  }'ou  are  on  the  road  to  ruin!" 
said  Alice,  hotly. 

"You  have  said  it,"  responded  the  old  man,  meekly. 
"  We  are  on  the  road  to  destruction  and  ruin,  but  a  ruin 
out  of  which  we  mean  to  construct  a  new  and  a  better 
world." 

"  Ah  !  now  I  see  it  all !  "  cried  the  girl,  rising.  Her 
face  was  quite  pale  ;  the  lace  shawl  had  fallen  from  her 
head,  and  her  excitement  lent  a  lambent,  spiritual  flame 
to  her  beauty.  "  I  see  it  all !  You  are  the  Nihilists,  the 
destructionists,  of  whom  we  have  heard  so  much,  and  you 
have  drawn  this  iiuioceut  young  man  into  your  plans,  your 


TKIAL   AND   PASTING.  321 

plots  !  And  now,  what  is  it  that  you  require?  That  he 
should  give  up  his  love,  his  honour,  everything,  that  you 
may  use  him  as  an  instrument  of  your  will !  Why,  sir, 
I  am  only  a  girl,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  I  can  read  human 
nature  better  than  you  have  read  it.  Do  you  think  that 
I  will  give  him  up  now,  when  what  you  have  told  me 
makes  it  more  than  ever  my  duty  to  cling  to  him,  to  save 
him?  Never!" 

"He  is  no  longer  his  own  master,"  said  the  old  man, 
who  was  momentarily  becoming  more  and  more  the  prey 
of  a  mystical  exaltation.  "  He  is  one  of  us.  He  is  an 
apostle  of  vengeance.  He  is  a  herald  of  destruction.  He 
has  mighty  wrongs  to  avenge.  He  has  a  mission  beyond 
the  sea.  He  cannot  retire.  If  you  hold  him  from 
his  duty  you  destroy  him.  Draw  back,  my  daughter, 
from  mysteries  that  you  do  not  understand.  It  is  yet 
time.  Seek  your  happiness,  your  love,  elsewhere.  Re- 
member Pleasant  Merrinott  as  one  whom  you  have  seen 
in  a  dream.  He  is  wedded  to  his  work.  The  die  is  cast ; 
the  word  is  spoken  ;  he  must  henceforth  be  one  of  those 
who  work  to  destroy  the  world  —  the  society  that  has  no 
future !  " 

"  Sacrilege  !  "  said  Alice.  "  Are  you  so  presumptuous 
that  you  do  not  tremble  when  you  talk  of  blotting  out,  of 
destroying,  a  society  which  a  God  died  to  redeem  !  " 

The  old  man  was  silent  for  a  minute  or  two.  But  at 
last  he  said,  "  It  would  be  useless  for  us' to  discuss  these 
matters.  I  should  only  shock  your  feelings.  Some  day, 
when  you  hear  the  clock  of  destiny  strike,  you  will  feel 
that  we  have  not  laboured  in  vain.  But  do  be  warned. 
Believe  me ;  it  is  because  I  respect  and  reverence  your 
youth  and  beauty  and  goodness  that  I  have  warned  you  ! 
Turn  away,  child  of  fortune  that  you  are,  from  the  thorny 
path  that  the  chosen  ones  must  tread.  The  young  Indian 
might,  for  the  sake  of  your  love,  prove  false  to  his  duty. 


322  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

If  he  should  prove  false  now,  no  power  on  earth  could 
save  him ;  his  death  warrant  would  be  sealed.  If  you 
value  his  life,  turn  away  from  him,  and  forget  him  !  " 

' '  This  is  monstrous  !  ' '  said  Alice.  ' '  You  are  criminals  ! 
I  will  not  listen  to  such  language !  I  will  have  you 
punished  !  Do  not  think  that  I  am  afraid  !  I  will  leave 
this  place  !  Bertine  ! ' ' 

The  old  man  arose,  and  gravely  stroked  his  gray  beard. 
"  My  child,"  he  said,  "  you  are  as  free  to  go  as  you  were  to 
come.  No  one  will  raise  a  hand  against  you.  But  do  not 
think  that  you  can  injure  us.  One  —  two  —  ten  —  twenty 
of  us  are  taken  away ;  others  quietly  and  silently  take 
their  places.  Believe  me,  you  can  do  nothing.  You  are 
in  presence  of  a  superior  force.  Your  momentary  interests 
conflict  with  its  eternal  and  immutable  aims.  Yield  and 
retire,  before  your  heart  is  too  deeply  engaged.  The 
advice  is  harsh,  but  some  day  you  will  thank  me  for  it." 

"But  what  do  you  want  to  do  with  him  —  with  Mr. 
Merrinott?"  cried  the  girl  desperately.  "What  miser- 
able plot  have  you  drawn  him  into  ?  Why  did  you  not  let 
him  attend  to  his  noble  mission,  of  protecting  and  saving 
his  own  race  —  his  down-trodden  Indians?  " 

"  He  will  find  greater  consolation  in  greater  work  —  if 
you  will  but  leave  him  free  to  attend  to  it.  Remember, 
your  love  will  be  fatal  to  him,  for  it  will  make  him  false 
to  his  sublime  vow." 

"My  love  shall  save  him!"  said  Alice,  drawing  her 
shawl  over  her  head  and  moving  toward  the  door. 

Bertiue,  with  flaming  eyes  and  with  pallid  cheeks, 
followed  cautiously.  She  had  sprung  out  from  the  other 
room  at  the  cry  of  her  mistress,  and  was  all  aglow  with 
exasperation  at  the  patriarch,  of  whose  harangues  she  had 
not  understood  a  syllable.  The  old  man  took  up  a  candle 
as  if  to  show  them  out.  Alice's  swift  gaze  photographed 
upon  her  memory  every  detail  of  his  appearance  —  the  face 


TRIAL   AND   PARTING.  323 

seamed  with  wrinkles  and  scars  ;  the  queer  white  curls  in 
front  of  each  ear ;  the  stubby  beard  which  he  had  allowed 
to  grow  since  he  had  left  Switzerland  ;  and  the  frayed  and 
soiled  long  coat.  He  even  cringed  a  bit  before  her  keen 
eyes. 

Just  as  the  venerable  conspirator's  hand  was  on  the 
latch,  there  was  a  noise  on  the  staircase,  the  sound  of 
voices  approached,  and  in  a  moment  there  was  a  knock 
at  the  door.  An  ironical  smile  lighted  up  the  face  of 
Ignatius.  "It  is  better  so,"  he  muttered  in  his  native 
tongue,  and  motioning  Alice  and  Bertine  aside,  he  threw 
the  door  wide  open.  Advancing  a  little,  he  held  up  the 
candle  so  that  the  light  fell  full  upon  the  faces  of  — 
Pleasant  and  Vera. 

At  this  instant  a  most  extraordinar}-  revolution  took 
place  in  Alice's  mind.  As  her  determination  to  save 
Pleasant  had  grown  under  the  old  man's  menaces,  her 
tenderness  and  affection  for  him  had  also  increased.  But 
now  that  she  saw  him  side  by  side  with  the  woman  whom 
she  had  from  the  first  suspected  as  the  author  of  the 
mischief  ;  now  that  she  saw  Vera,  with  a  curious  expression 
of  joy  and  triumph  on  her  face,  holding  Pleasant's  hand 
in  hers,  an  unaffected  and  unabashed  feeling  of  rage  and 
contempt  gained  possession  of  her.  The  rage  was  un- 
reasoning but  mighty,  and  directed  against  Vera.  The 
contempt  was  regretful  but  strong,  and  fell  upon  Pleasant. 

The  new-comers  did  not  see  the  girls,  and,  before 
entering,  Vera  said,  solemnly  — 

"  Great  news,  brother.     I  am  the  chosen  one." 

In  his  excitement  the  old  man  let  the  candle  drop  from 
his  hands,  and  stood  staring  admiringly  at  Vera.  Pleasant 
unclasped  Vera's  hand  from  his,  and  stepped  down  to  pick 
up  the  light.  The  rustling  of  Bertine's  garments  caused 
him  to  glance  hastily  at  the  spot  where  the  girls  stood 
together. 


324  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

"  Alice ! "  he  cried.     "  Alice  !  here !  " 

Vera  turned  her  face  slowly  toward  the  girls. 

"Strangers  here,  and  at  this  solemn  time,"  she  said. 
"Ignatius,  do  you  know  what  risks  you  incur?"  She 
spoke  in  English,  as  she  had  spoken  at  first,  because 
Pleasant  was  with  her. 

Ignatius  began  to  mutter  something  about  a  "  good 
motive,"  but  no  one  listened,  for  Alice,  wild  with  excite- 
ment, could  contain  herself  no  longer.  She  stepped  im- 
periously to  the  door,  motioning  Vera  to  make  way. 

"I  have  seen  and  heard  enough,"  she  said  to  the  old 
man.  "  You  were  right  to  ask  me  here.  I  have  learned 
much.  And  now,  good-bye  to  each  and  all  of  you  for 
ever!  " 

She  was  gone,  with  Bertine  fluttering  after  her  —  down 
the  stone  staircase,  into  the  darkness. 

"  Alice  !  Alice  !  "  cried  Pleasant,  trying  to  follow  her". 
But  the  old  man  fell  on  his  knees  before  him,  and  Vera 
placed  her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  he  stood  still.  The 
light  faded  out  of  his  face.  The  shadow  of  the  wings  of 
the  angel  of  destruction  had  fallen  upon  him. 

****** 
Alzor  went  home  as  swiftly  as  he  had  come,  and,  as  the 
clock  in  the  library  marked  half-past  eleven,  Alice  climbed 
feebly  up  the  stairs  to  her  own  rooms.  When  her  mother 
returned  from  the  opera  she  listened  at  the  girl's  door,  and 
hearing  no  sound,  fancied  that  she  must  have  long  been 
asleep. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

UNDER  THE  SHADOW  AGAIN. 

PRESENTLY  the  old  man  arose,  and  stood  with  bowed  head 
at  a  little  distance  from  Vera  and  Pleasant,  in  the  attitude 
of  one  who  expected  a  reproof.  Vera  removed  her  hand 
from  the  young  Indian's  shoulder,  and  walked  to  the 
window,  whence  she  looked  down  upon  the  peaceful, 
moonlit  garden.  She  was  terribly  agitated,  and  was 
making  a  great  effort  to  recover  her  calmness.  Pleasant 
fancied  that  he  could  feel  his  life  ebbing  awajr.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  in  that  one  minute  when  Alice's  beautiful  and 
haughty  face  had  flashed  upon  him  out  of  the  darkness, 
he  had  lived  a  life-time,  had  exhausted  all  his  strength 
and  courage.  He  stood  staring  at  the  door  through 
which  Alice  had  disappeared ;  that  was  all  he  felt  capa- 
ble of  for  the  time. 

He  heard  the  ticking  of  a  clock  in  a  corner  of  the 
adjoining  room ;  and  each  sound  of  the  pendulum  seemed 
to  strike  a  blow  upon  his  heart.  He  had  lost  his  love ! 
he  had  lost  his  love !  —  a  love  that  had  seemed  thrice 
precious  to  him  since  he  had  learned  how  freely,  how 
loyally  Alice  had  given  him  her  heart ;  how  she  had  suffered 
from  his  caprices  and  his  neglect ;  and  how  horror-stricken 
and  wretched  she  must  now  be,  if  she  had  learned  of  his 
final  determination.  He  had  cast  away  his  love  to 
engage  in  an  enterprise  which  was,  perhaps,  a  bitter  and 

325 


326  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

criminal  folly  !  He  had  hoped  that  there  might  be  some 
means  of  reconciling  his  devotion  to  her  with  the  per- 
formance of  what  he  fancied  to  be  his  duty  to  these  strange 
acquaintances  —  these  mysterious  artificers  of  destruction 
—  this  virginal  priestess  of  Bakounin,  and  this  ancient 
mechanic,  this  builder  of  engines  of  Upheaval.  Tick ! 
tick  !  The  clock's  monotonous  voice  maddened  him  ;  his 
head  was  heavy,  and  his  brain  began  to  reel. 

Vera's  voice  aroused  him.  She  had  regained  her  nerve 
now,  and  in  her  speech  there  was  a  peremptory  ring. 

"  Ignatius  !  "  she  said,  "  how  came  those  women  here 
to-night?  "Were  you  mad  to  expose  us  in  this  manner  just 
as  we  are  on  the  point  of  success  ?  Explain  !  Talk  the 
English ;  let  our  new  brother  understand  every  thing. 
Speak,  man !  don't  stand  twisting  your  hands  like  that ! 
We  have  more  important  matters  to  discuss  when  this  is 
settled." 

"  There  is  nothing  to  settle,"  said  the  old  man,  a  little 
uneasily.  "  After  our  brother  had  entered  into  a  solemn 
engagement  with  us,  it  was  my  duty  to  see  that  he  was 
not  drawn  away  from  his  work  by  outside  influences.  This 
young  girl  whom  you  saw  here  to-night  was  an  outside 
influence.  I  warned  her  that  she  must  renounce  our 
brother  ;  that  now  he  could  devote  himself  to  nothing  but 
the  work.  She  did  not  heed  my  first  warning  ;  so  I  wrote 
to  her  that  if  she  would  come  here  I  would  convince  her 
that  she  must  give  up  all  interest  in  or  affection  for  Mr. 
Merrinott.  Your  sudden  arrival  aided  me  much.  You 
see  that  she  is  convinced  !  "  The  old  man  said  these  last 
words  in  a  mocking  manner,  rendered  doubly  effective  by 
the  slight  foreign  drawl  with  which  he  spoke  English. 

Pleasant  turned  fiercely  upon  him,  but  Ignatius  spread 
out  both  hands,  and  bowed  his  venerable  head  lower  than 
before,  as  if  deprecating  the  idea  of  a  dispute,  and  abso- 
lutely refusing  to  enter  into  a  quarrel. 


UNDER   THE   SHADOW   AGAIN.  327 

"But  do  you  not  think  that  she  will  betray  us?  Do 
you  think  a  young  girl  who  has  the  courage  to  come  to 
this  place  at  this  hour  of  the  night  will  not  have  the 
presence  of  mind  to  expose  us  —  to  ruin  us  —  to  render 
all  our  efforts  valueless?  Oh,  Ignatius,  what  have  you 
done  ?  ' '  cried  Vera. 

The  Jew  went  slowly  to  the  door  and  closed  it.  He 
noticed  that  Pleasant  was  watching,  with  wolf -like  eager- 
ness, for  his  answer  to  this  last  question.  He  sat  down 
and  rubbed  his  wrinkled  hands  together,  as  if  entirely 
satisfied  with  his  thoughts. 

"The  girl  betray  us?  Not  she!"  he  replied.  "She 
is  the  last  person  in  the  world  to  do  it.  We  have  nothing 
more  to  fear  from  her. ' ' 

' '  Why  ? ' '  said  Vera. 

"  Because  she  is  a  sensible  person.  Because  I  have 
told  her  of  the  terrible  risks  which  our  new  brother  would 
run  if  she  caused  him  to  falter  in  his  work,  and  because 
she  would  rather  lose  him  than  to  feel  that  he  is  in  con- 
stant danger  of  losing  his  life." 

Pleasant  leaned  against  the  wall  of  the  little  room,  and 
folded  his  arms.  He  was  trapped  —  caught  in  the  meshes 
of  the  conspiracy  just  at  the  moment  when,  in  the  ex- 
tremity of  his  doubt,  he  had  cried  out  to  Alice  to  save 
him.  And  now  her  very  love  for  him  had  been  turned 
into  a  barrier  to  erect  between  her  and  himself !  The 
cunning  of  the  old  Nihilist  aroused  a  stern  resentment  in 
his  mind.  But  if  Alice  had  really  loved  him,  if  her 
affection  had  been  of  that  sterling  ware  which  is  proof 
against  everything,  would  she  not  then  and  there  have 
sprung  to  his  arms  and  insisted  that  he  should  go  away 
with  her?  It  did  not  enter  his  mind  for  an  instant  that 
she  could  be  jealous  of  Vera  —  that  she  could  by  any 
remote  possibility  misunderstand  the  nature  of  his  re- 
lations to  the  Russian  girl.  No  ;  he  was  caught  in  the 


328  THE   GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

meshes  ;  he  must  go  on  now  in  his  pilgrimage  towards  the 
mysterious  new  world  which  the  revolutionists  expected  to 
evolve  out  of  the  ruins  of  the  old  and  corrupt  one.  He 
was  beginning  to  feel  like  the  Jesuit  brother,  who  delivers 
himself  perinde  ac  cadaver,  like  a  very  corpse,  into  the 
hands  of  those  who  are  to  control  him.  But  he  could  not 
deny  that  his  heart  ached,  and  that  the  vision  of  Alice 
was  constantly  before  his  eyes. 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,  brother.  The  American  girl 

may  reflect,  because  of  the  danger  to But  did  she 

fully  understand  that  he  has  bound  himself  to  us  —  that 
he  is  responsible  to  us  —  that  he  is  to  undertake  a  mission 
for  us?" 

"She  understands  enough,"  said  Ignatius.  "Didn't 
you  hear  her  parting  words?  Did  she  not  bid  us  all 
good-bye  for  ever?" 

For  ever !  Pleasant  thought  of  one  night  on  the  terrace 
of  Berne,  and  the  kiss  that  he  had  placed  on  Alice's  brow, 
and  the  music  of  the  waters  of  the  rushing  Aar.  He 
thought,  too,  of  the  moment  when  he  had  clasped  her  to 
his  breast,  and  had  cried  out  to  her  to  save  bun.  Now 
all  that  was  gone  by ;  Alice  would  learn  to  hate  and 
despise  him  ;  she  would  shudder  with  loathing  at  the  very 
recital  of  the  dream  of  daring  which  filled  his  mind.  He 
looked  down  at  the  Russian  girl,  who  had  turned  to  him, 
as  if  she  expected  some  outcry,  some  protest  from  him, 
because  of  the  summary  nature  of  Ignatius's  proceed- 
ings. 

"And  what  have  you  to  say,  brother?"  she  asked, 
almost  sadly. 

"You  have  robbed  me  of  my  love,"  he  answered, 
hoarsely.  "  I  think  the  new  world  that  we  build  will 
have  to  be  mighty  fine  to  compensate  me  for  my  loss." 

Vera  went  up  to  him  impulsively,  with  a  strange  light 
in  her  eyes,  and  looked  at  him  almost  compassionately. 


UNDER   THE   SHADOW  AGAIN.  329 

"  Do  not  fancy  that  you.  are  alone  in  your  sacrifice, 
brother,"  she  said.  "I,  too,  suffer.  I  know  what  it  is 
to  love  hopelessly.  But  the  fruition  of  love  is  forbidden 
to  those  of  us  who  look  forward  to  the  complete  success  of 
the  great  cause.  Love  is  not  for  me  !  love  is  not  for  you  ! 
The  thorns  for  us,  my  brother !  the  thorns  !  "We  are  now 
no  longer  merely  human.  We  are  sublimated  wills,  we 
are  the  apostles  of  the  Absolute  Idea  !  we  are  the  pioneers 
of  man's  emancipation  from  tradition  !  Courage  !  Remem- 
ber our  motto  !  '  Let  man's  will  be  done  ! '  Courage  !  " 

Pleasant  tossed  his  hair  back  —  he  had  thrown  his  hat 
aside  as  Alice  hurried  away  —  and  a  scowl  was  on  his 
bronzed  brow.  He  had  aged  curiously  within  two  or 
three  days ;  the  intensity  of  his  doubt,  of  his  striving, 
had  left  deep  marks  on  his  face.  Although  he  was  now 
committed  beyond  recall  to  the  cause  of  these  extraor- 
dinary people,  he  did  not  like  their  ways,  and  their 
strange  jargon,  of  which  he  heard  more  and  more  as  he 
became  better  acquainted  with  them,  annoyed  him  very 
much.  He  was  constantly  tempted  to  ask  Yera  to  trans- 
late her  sentiments  into  plain  language.  Even  now  that 
her  convictions  had  become  his  own,  he  was  sensible  that 
there  was  a  wide  difference  between  them,  in  method  of 
thought,  in  manner  of  expression,  in  everything. 

"  How  is  it,"  he  said  suddenly,  and  in  a  matter-of-fact 
way,  as  if  he  had  swept  Alice  and  her  love  entirely  and 
for  ever  out  of  his  mind,  "  that  your  brother  Stanislas 
never  talks  about  the  —  the  mission  in  this  —  this  earnest 
and  excited  way,  like  you  and  Ignatius  and  the  others? 
Sometimes  I  think  it  is  not  so  serious  a  matter  to  him  as 
it  is  to  you.  The  other  day,  when  we  were  discussing  the 
means  to  employ  in  America,  there  was  something  almost 
like  a  sneer  perceptible  in  his  conversation.  Is  he  as 
much  in  earnest  as  the  rest  of  us?  " 

Vera's  face  grew  so  deathly  pale  that  Pleasant  was 


330  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

sorry  he  had  asked  the  question.  "I  —  I  don't  know," 
she  stammered,  "that  I  have  ever  observed  anything  of 
the  kind.  Brother  Stanislas  is  so  very  much  engrossed 

in  his  music  that  perhaps  now  and  then But  the 

hour  is  late,  and  we  must  finish  our  duties.  Ignatius, 
there  are  police  agen-ts  about  us,  as  you  know,  but  they 
can  discover  nothing,  I  think."  Her  voice  sank  to  a 
whisper.  "  Remember  that  I  am  the  chosen  one.  The 
news  came  to-night.  When  I  have  waited  a  suitable 
time  I  shall  start  on  the  mission.  But  our  young  Ameri- 
can friend  must  be  on  his  way  first.  He  shall  shock  the 
New  "World  to  its  centre  while  we  shock  the  Old  World. 
America  and  Russia,  the  two  nations  that  shall  lead  the 
way  in  the  great  overturning,  are  the  nations  which  are 
most  ready  to  build  new  structures  on  the  ruins  that  we 
propose  to  create.  In  a  few  days  all  the  instructions  will 
be  at  hand.  Take  care  that  my  clock  of  destiny  is  not 
discovered,  and  taken  from  you  by  these  prying  French 
police,  before  the  moment  arrives  to  commit  it  to  my 
keeping." 

The  old  man  nibbed  his  hands  again  and  looked  up  at 
Vera,  with  a  cunning  leer  on  his  face.  "Ho!  ho!  "  he 
said,  "do  you  think  that  I  would  have  risked  bringing 
the  clock  of  destiny  into  France?  Ignatius  is  not  *u<-h 
a  fool.  When  you  pass  through  Switzerland,"  he  added, 
leaning  forward  and  whispering,  "  it  will  be  delivered  to 
you.  But  at  present  you  cannot  know  by  whom  ;  nor 
can  I  tell  you  where  it  is.  Do  you  but  guard  it  well  when 
once  you  have  it,  and  let  no  one  take  it  from  you !  No 
living  human  beings  have  seen  it  but  Stanislas,  and  your- 
self, and  myself  —  and  —  and  the  young  man,"  pointing 
to  the  Indian. 

"Good,"  said  Vera.  "There  is  no  danger  from  any 
one  of  us.  I  am  sure.  Stanislas  sees  much  of  the  Russian 
diplomatic  circles  in  society  here,  and  he  would  be  sure  to 


UNDER  THE   SHADOW   AGAIN.  331 

warn  us  if  they  were  to  undertake  any  decided  movements 
against  us.  As  it  is  now,  they  can  only  watch  us  and 
suspect  us.  They  will  hardly  dare  to  go  further.  I  must 
sit  down  for  a  few  minutes,  I  am  so  very  tired.  Mr. 
Merrinott,  will  you  not  rest  a  bit  before  we  separate  for 
the  night?" 

Pleasant  brought  her  one  of  the  old-fashioned  arm- 
chairs which  stood  near  the  fireplace,  and  himself  sat 
dovfti  in  the  other  which  Alice  had  occupied  while  she 
listened  to  the  pleadings  of  old  Ignatius. 

Vera  faced  the  moonlight,  which  was  peeping  in,  as  if 
the  artful  Russian  agents  of  the  "third  section"  had 
employed  it  to  watch  the  conspirators ;  and,  letting  her 
hands  fall  in  her  lap,  and  throwing  back  her  head,  she 
said,  dreamily  — 

"Now  I  could  feel  content  for  the  time  being,  if  only 
our  brother  here  were  on  his  way  to  America.  To  think 
that  he  is  hastening  to  his  duty  in  the  West,  while  I  go  to 
mine  in  the  East ;  to  feel  that  we  two  can  shake  the  world  ; 
that  our  humble  efforts,  our  two  pairs  of  arms,  can  turn 
the  current  of  society,  can  destroy  tradition,  overthrow 
tyrants  and  capitalists,  fulfil  the  dream  of  Bakounin  —  it 
fills  my  heart  with  joy  !  I  would  not  have  the  noblest 
coronet  of  the  wealthiest  European  empire  in  exchange  for 
the  mission  which  has  to-day  been  given  to  me  !  "  She 
turned  hastily  to  Pleasant.  "  What  arc  love,  life,  caresses, 
kisses,  happy  moments,  when  weighed  in  the  balance  with 
such  missions  as  ours  !  "  she  said.  "  Do  you  falter  now? 
Would  you  give  up  your  work  of  vengeance,  of  liberation, 
in  exchange  for  the  love  of  the  poor  innocent  girl  who 
was  here  a  little  while  ago?  No,  you  are  the  true  stuff 
of  which  the  disciples  of  Bakounin  are  made,  and  you 
will  show  the  misguided  Americans,  who  are  following  in 
the  footsteps  of  the  corrupt  Europeans  from  whom  they 
sprang,  that  for  the  followers  of  Bakounin  the  world  is 


332  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

but  one  country,  and  all  peoples  are  but  one  nation.  Swear 
to  me  that  you  will  do  it." 

"I  have  given  my  word,"  said  Pleasant.  "There  is 
no  need  of  saying  anything  more  on  that  subject,  I  reckon. 
We  must  work  now  —  not  talk." 

"  I  accept  the  reproof,"  said  Vera  meekly.  "  But  the 
vision  was  an  inspiring  one.  Oh,  why  is  not  Stanislas 
here  to  join  in  our  triumph  ?  He  is  very  negligent  lately. 
Do  you  think,  Ignatius,"  she  added,  in  a  strangely  altered 
voice,  "  that  by  any  strange  circumstance  Stanislas  could 
be  betrayed  into  telling  our  secrets  —  could  be  deceived  — 
could  —  what  do  you  think  ?  ' ' 

"  I  think,"  said  the  old  man,  rising  painfully,  going  to 
Vera's  chair,  and  placing  his  wrinkled  hand  affectionately 
on  her  head,  "  I  think  that  Stanislas  loves  his  life  too 
well,  much  too  well,  to  tell  any  of  our  secrets.  Think 
not  so  much  of  Stanislas,  my  daughter,"  he  added,  bend- 
ing down  to  her  and  speaking  in  their  native  language ; 
"  it  may  distract  you  from  the  mission." 

"  True,  true,"  said  the  girl.  And  a  flush  stole  into  her 
pallid  cheeks. 

"  And  now  get  to  your  homes,"  said  the  old  conspirator. 
"And  you,  Mr.  Merrinott?  Are  you  angry  with  me  for 
what  I  have  done  to-night?  Will  you  keep  your  word  to 
go  ami  receive  your  clock  of  destiny  when  I  tell  you 
where  you  will  find  it?  Have  you  given  your  heart 
wholly  to  your  work  ?  Do  you  regret  what  has  happened 
within  the  past  hour?  " 

"  What  is  done  is  done,"  said  Pleasant.  "  And  now  it 
cannot  be  undone.  I  have  forsworn  myself ;  I  have  lost 
my  love ;  I  have  struck  a  blow  at  my  honour,  in  sen-ing 
you  and  your  cause.  You  would  be  right  exacting  to  ask 
any  greater  proofs  of  my  devotion  to  the  enterprise." 

••Oh!  love!  honour!  pretty,  endearing  terms!"  said 
the  old  man.  "  How  much  they  mean,  and  yet  how  little  ! 


UNDER   THE  SHADOW   AGAIN.  333 

How  easy  it  is  for  the  apostles  of  Bakounin  to  forswear 
them  !  For  we  steel  our  hearts,  Mr.  Merrinott ;  we  must 
not  let  them  be  weak.  We  must  have  hearts  of  Titans 
if  we  mean  to  pull  down  the  world  !  Heigh  ho !  my  old 
limbs  ache  terribly.  Leave  me,  my  children,  and  let  me 
crawl  into  my  bed  and  rest.  Ha !  ha  !  when  the  November 
fogs  come,  and  the  rheumatism  keeps  me  awake  all  night, 
I  shall  think  "  —  he  stood  between  the  chairs  of  Vera  and 
Pleasant,  and  stooping,  he  took  their  hands  in  his,  —  "I 
shall  think  of  my  children  of  progress,  my  followers  of 
Bakounin  —  the  one  going  west  with  the  clock  of  destiny, 
the  other  going  eastward  with  the  clock  of  destiny.  Ha  ! 
ha !  ha !  and  I  shall  lie  thinking  of  your  journeys,  and 
your  troubles  and  dangers,  and  longing  for  the  moment 
when  the  clocks  shall  strike,  ha !  ha !  ha !  and  society 
shall  crumble  ! ' ' 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Vera,  rising  hurriedly.  "  You  are  less 
cautious  than  we  are.  We  shall  see  you  again  soon. 
Stanislas  will  help  me  in  the  movements  that  I  must 
make.  He  will  provide  mone}*  and  letters.  I  am  to  be 
in  Odessa  within  a  month.  There  is  plenty  of  time.  Mr. 
Merrinott  will  be  at  his  post  in  America  before  that." 

"  Oh,  the  earlier  the  better !  "  said  the  Indian. 

He  bade  them  good  night,  and,  as  he  picked  up  his  hat 
from  the  floor,  he  stumbled.  This  was  a  confession  of 
weakness  which  made  him  angry  with  himself.  He  felt  as 
if  he  had  been  worsted  by  Fate,  and  by  the  cunning  of  old 
Ignatius,  who  had  now  separated  him  permanently  from 
Alice.  He  went  out,  and,  not  far  from  the  corner  of  the 
street,  a  closed  carriage  was  driven  rather  ostentatiously 
toward  him,  and  the  driver  offered  his  services.  Pleasant 
gave  the  man  his  address,  jumped  into  the  carriage,  threw 
himself  back  against  the  dark  cushions,  and  began  to 
wonder,  gloomily,  how  much  help  his  Cherokees  would 
derive  from  his  new  endeavours  as  a  conspirator.  He  was 


334  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

so  preoccupied  with  his  thoughts  that  he  did  not  notice 
that  a  dark-faced  fellow,  in  a  silk  cap  and  a  blue  blouse, 
climbed  up  beside  the  Jehu  on  the  box  before  they  drove 
away. 

When  Pleasant  had  gone,  Vera  said  to  the  old  man, 
"Do  you  not  think  that  that  proud-spirited  girl  will 
make  us  trouble?  She  looked  at  me  to-night  as  if  she 
wanted  to  crush  me." 

"  My  dear  child,  she  is  safe  for  the  present,  as  I  have 
told  you.  Pride  and  fear  will  prevent  her  from  any  inter- 
ference just  now  with  our  plans.  But  the  Indian  must 
leave  Paris  at  once,  and  must  not  see  her  again.  I  will 
arrange  that.  I  will  be  at  his  lodgings  an  hour  after  day- 
break. All  his  enthusiasm  is  ours  now,  and  we  must 
keep  it  untainted.  Good-night,  chosen  one." 

Vera  went  home  fearlessly  through  the  darkened 
streets.  Perhaps  the  wine-flushed  wanderers,  who  might 
have  been  tempted  to  pay  her  too  broad  compliments, 
recognized  the  fact  that  behind  her  chaste  presence 
marched  the  spirit  of  a  sinister  and  terrible  Idea. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

COLONEL   CLIFF   REPORTS    FOB   ORDERS. 

"I  MUST  not  forget  poor  Caro,"  said  Alice,  languidly 
turning  over  and  over  in  her  hands  a  note  which  she  had 
just  received  from  Miss  Merlin.  "  I  had  no  idea  that  her 
concert  was  so  near  at  hand." 

It  was  not  strange  that  Alice  had  taken  but  small 
notice  of  the  swift  flight  of  the  October  days,  since  the 
memorable  night  when  she  had  gone  to  beard  old  Ignatius 
in  his  conspirators'  den.  The  girl's  nature  had  received 
a  great  shock ;  and  for  two  or  three  days  after  she  had 
undergone  the  sudden  revolution  in  her  heart  which  led 
her  to  bid  farewell  for  ever  to  Pleasant,  she  went  about 
dazed  and  silent,  brooding  over  her  lost  illusions,  as  she 
fancied,  rather  than  over  her  vanished  love.  The  stern- 
ness of  the  girl's  indignation  at  what  she  conceived  to  be 
Pleasant's  gross  insincerity,  his  double  dealing,  and  his 
weakness,  seemed  to  give  her  strength,  so  that  she  did  not 
relapse  into  illness.  Mrs.  Harrelston,  observing  that  the 
young  Indian  made  no  more  visits  to  the  house,  inquired, 
as  discreetly  as  possible,  what  her  daughter  knew  about 
it.  Alice  answered  quietly  that  Mr.  Merrinott  would 
come  no  more  ;  that  she  believed  he  had  been  called  away 
on  urgent  business  ;  and  showed  such  determination  to  say 
nothing  further  about  him  that  Mrs.  Harrelston  at  once 

335 


336  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

joyously  concluded  that  Alice  had  rejected  his  overtures, 
if  he  had  made  any  serious  ones,  and  that  he  had  de- 
camped, like  the  savage  that  he  was,  without  endeavour- 
ing to  conceal  his  disappointment  and  mortification  under 
the  cover  of  a  conventional  parting  call.  She  questioned 
Bertine  very  closely  as  to  the  date  of  Pleasant's  last  visit, 
and  the  period  of  his  final  disappearance,  but  the  little 
maid  told  such  a  series  of  disconnected  and  improbable 
tales,  and  apparently  regarded  the  Indian  with  such  aver- 
sion and  disfavour,  that  Mrs.  Harrelston  placed  small 
reliance  on  what  she  said,  and  little  dreamed  that  Bertine 
could  have  given  her  the  whole  secret. 

Mr.  Harrelston  was  angry  when  he  learned  of  Pleasant's 
disappearance.  He  felt  that  he  had  been  imposed  upon  ; 
he  trembled  lest  his  "  experiment"  should  prove  worse 
than  useless,  perhaps  fatal,  to  Alice,  now  that  he  on  whom 
its  success  depended  had  absconded  like  a  thief  in  the 
night.  Mrs.  Harrelston  used  her  utmost  influence  to 
convince  him  that  Pleasant  Merrinott  was  unworthy  of 
the  delicate  confidence  which  the  banker  had  reposed  in 
him  ;  that  he  was  a  vulgar  half-breed,  engrossed  in  the 
sole  occupation  of  securing  all  the  benefits  that  he  could 
for  his  petty  race ;  and  that  his  departure  had  happily 
prevented  man}-  annoyances,  and  possible  scandal.  With 
feminine  eloquence  she  discoursed  upon  the  evils  which 
might  have  sprung  from  the  continuation  of  Alice's  pas- 
sionate attachment  for  the  Indian. 

"  She  will  soon  forget  him,"  said  Mrs.  Harre'ston  ;  "it 
was  the  romantic  side  of  her  nature,  and  not  her  heart,  to 
which  he  appealed.  Besides,  he  was  tainted  with  all  sorts 
of  social  heresies,  and  as  he  was  so  untrained  and  impul- 
sive that  he  was  capable  of  almost  any  folly,  I  am  glad 
he  is  well  out  of  our  house,  and  I  do  not  propose  to  let 
him  enter  it  again." 

The  banker  acted  as  if  he  were  convinced  of  the  justice 


COLOXEL  CLIFF  REPORTS  FOR  ORDERS.   337 

of  his  wife's  opinions,  but  in  reality  he  was  not.  He 
could  not  reconcile  Pleasant' s  new  departure  with  the 
sincerity  of  character  which  had  been  so  manifest  in  the 
young  Indian's  self -accusation,  and  his  frank  avowal  of 
his  affection  for  Alice  in  the  interview  at  the  bank  after 
his  return  from  Switzerland. 

"Any  man,"  thought  Mr.  Harrelston,  "  who  is  willing 
to  confess  that  he  has  been  a  fool,  is  on  the  high  road 
to  wisdom  ;  and  the  young  Cherokee  made  his  confession 
early  in  life.  No  ;  he  is  an  enthusiast ;  he  is  overweighted 
just  now  ;  he  fancies  his  duties  to  his  race  much  greater 
than  they  really  are.  I  should  not  be  surprised  to  see 
him  back  here  again,  full  of  some  new  whim  about  his 
Nation,*  and  apparently  un conscious  that  his  sudden 
changes  of  mental  temperature  attract  any  attention  or 
cause  any  disturbance.  But  in  the  meantime,  how  fares 
it  with  little  Alice?  "  And  he  watched  over  his  daughter 
with  even  more  tenderness  than  he  had  ever  before 
manifested,  comprehending  and  gratifying  her  smallest 
wishes  before  they  were  expressed.  If  she  was  paler 
than  usual  when  he  returned  from  business  in  the  even- 
ing he-  overwhelmed  himself  with  reproaches  for  having 
allowed  his  experiment  to  terminate  so  abruptly,  and  was 
nervous  with  fear  that  another  illness  was  at  hand.  Her 
mother  endeavoured  to  keep  her  in  company  as  much  as 
possible,  relying  upon  social  excitement  completely  to 
dissipate  an  impression  which  she  regarded  as  unfortunate. 
Alice  began  to  think  that  her  father  was  secretly  grieved 
at  the  turn  affairs  had  taken,  and  this  seemed  to  afford  her 
a  certain  consolation,  although  she  thought  herself  so 
offended  by  the  Indian  that  any  openly  expressed  sym- 
pathy for  him  would  have  encountered  her  instant  dis- 
approval. 

It  so  happened  that  the  two  persons  who  might  have 
thrown  light  upon  Mr.  Harrelston's  somewhat  bewildered 


338  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

notions  of  Pleasant's  new  freak  were  both  absent  from 
Paris  when  the  banker  sought  them  in  pursuit  of  infor- 
mation. One  was  Colonel  Cliff,  who  had  gone  to  England 
on  business  connected  with  his  Spanish  mining  company  ; 
the  other  was  Stanislas.  Mr.  Harrelston  had  met  the 
musician  now  and  then  in  society  the  previous  season,  and 
he  had  formed  an  excellent  opinion  of  him.  He  had  been 
much  impressed  with  what  he  had  heard  from  his  wife 
about  Vera,  the  mysterious  sister  of  Stanislas,  her  possible 
relations  to  some  vague  conspiracy,  and  her  friendship  for 
Pleasant  Merrinott.  It  seemed  to  him  that  from  Stanislas 
or  the  sister  he  might  learn  something  about  the  Indian. 
From  Mrs.  Merlin,  who  came  into  his  private  office  one 
morning  in  great  haste,  to  ask  his  advice  upon  some 
matter  concerning  the  lease  of  her  small  house,  he  secured 
Stanislas's  address,  and  drove  to  it,  on  his  way  home,  the 
same  evening.  The  musician  lived  in  a  handsome  apart- 
ment in  a  house  on  the  Boulevard  Malesherbes,  not  far 
from  the  Church  of  the  Madeleine.  But  he  was  not  at 
home  ;  there  was  no  one  in,  said  the  concierge.  Monsieur 
Stanislas  had  left  for  foreign  parts,  and  his  sister  was  in  some 
country  town  near  Paris,  but  exactly  where  the  concierge 
could  not  sa}'.  Mr.  Harrelston  was  vexed.  Had  he  known 
that  he  was  in  search  of  the  very  persons  who  were  most 
interested  for  the  moment  to  keep  the  whereabouts  of 
Pleasant  Merrinott  a  secret  from  all  except  themselves, 
his  vexation  at  his  blunder  would  have  been  greater  than 
that  caused  by  his  failure  to  find  them.  He  took  measures 
for  hearing  from  his  agents  in  the  West  in  case  Master 
.Merrinott  suddenly  reappeared  in  the  Indian  Territory, 
and  was  compelled  to  content  himself,  for  the  time  being, 
with  this. 

So  the  days  had  flown,  bringing  increasing  sorrow  and 
gloom  for  Alice,  who  had  made  private  inquiries  on  her 
own  part  about  the  movements  of  Pleasant  and  Vera, 


COLONEL  CLIFF  REPORTS  FOB  ORDERS.   339 

because  she  was  constantly  haunted  by  the  fear  that  the 
Indian  might  become  involved  in  some  terrible  and  dis- 
graceful tragedy.  But  she  could  discover  nothing  definite. 
The  old  Jew  had  disappeared  from  Paris,  although  he 
still  retained  his  lodgings.  Vera  and  Stanislas  were  gone, 
and  Pleasant  was  —  where?  There  was  a  postscript  to 
Caro's  note  about  Stanislas.  Alice  had  not  seen  it  at 
first,  as  she  turned  the  page,  but  now  she  read  it  hastily, 
in  the  hope  that  it  might  offer  some  clue  to  the  move- 
ments of  the  conspirators.  "  Stanislas,"  wrote  Caro,  "has 
not  been  near  us  for  ten  days,  but  now  we  have  a  note 
from  Germany  to  say  that  he  will  be  at  the  concert.  I 
have  sent  that  singular  personage,  Mademoiselle  Vera,  a 
ticket,  but  as  I  have  had  no  answer  from  her,  I  fancy  she 
must  be  more  than  usually  occupied  with  her  medical 
studies.  Alice,  we  shall  find  out  yet  what  that  young 
woman  is  up  to  ;  and  you  take  my  word  for  it,  it  won't  be 
anything  very  good.  And  where's  Mr.  Merrinott,  the 
base  bronze  deceiver,  who  promises  to  call  and  never  calls  ? 
I  have  not  seen  him  since  that  afternoon  when  I  met  him 
at  your  house." 

Alice  was  standing  in  the  library  as  she  slowly  de- 
ciphered Caro's  faintly  pencilled  and  straggling  chirog- 
raphy.  She  was  dressed  for  an  afternoon  round  of  calls 
with  her  remorseless  mamma,  who  insisted  that  she 
required  diversion.  But  she  was  to  have  some  time  alone 
before  her  mother  would  be  ready ;  and  she  had  already 
begun  to  lose  all  sense  of  the  flight  of  the  minutes  in  a 
mournful  reverie,  through  which  the  figure  of  Pleasant 
Merrinott  moved  with  the  misty  unsubslautiality  of  a 
ghost.  She  put  the  note  in  her  pocket,  and,  sitting  down 
at  the  huge  carven  desk,  ornamented  with  ivories  and 
bronzes,  began  to  write  to  Caro,  to  assure  her  anew  that 
she  would  be  present,  with  her  friends,  to  encourage  her 
debut.  As  she  placed  the  blotter  on  the  first  page  she 


340  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

heard  the  bell  ring  in  the  hall,  and  she  nervously  pushed 
the  paper  aside  and  leaned  back  in  the  chair.  She  never 
heard  the  bell  ring  now  without  sudden  apprehension  of 
evil  tidings  —  she  could  not  explain  why. 

The  servant  brought  in  a  tiny  English  card  with 
Colonel  Cliff's  name  upon  it,  and  as  Alice  arose  the 
Colonel's  pleasant  face  appeared  at  the  door.  It  chanced 
that  they  had  not  met  since  Alice's  sorrowful  loss  of  her 
illusions.  The  girl  was  glad  to  see  him ;  he  seemed  to 
offer  temporary  relief  from  her  thoughts. 

"  We  heard  that  you  were  in  London,  Colonel,"  she 
said.  "  Your  absence  has  caused  a  decided  consternation 
in  the  Rue  de  Presbourg,  where  you  had  promised  to 
superintend  Mrs.  Van  Allyn's  tableaux ;  do  you  not 
remember?" 

"  I  know,  I  know,  Miss  Harrelston  ;  but  those  Spanish 
mines  are  such  dreadful  tyrants !  Business  is  a  foe  to 
social  engagements.  Have  you  quite  recovered  from  your 
illness  ?  I  fancied  you  were  looking  pale  and  —  and  very 
thoughtful  when  I  stepped  in ;  but  I  think  it  was  the 
dimness  of  the  light  in  the  room.  November  is  at  hand 
—  and  the  clouds  are  thick  to-day.  Don't  let  me  delay 
you  an  instant  if  you  are  going  out."  The  Colonel 
paused  between  each  of  his  commonplace  remarks,  as  if 
it  caused  him  great  pain  to  say  any  thing  at  all,  and  Alice 
was  a  bit  surprised  to  see  that  be  was  confused  and  ill  at 
ease. 

"Colonel  Cliff,"  she  said  gaily,  "  I  am  quite  well.  I 
am  not  going  out  for  an  hour,  and  you  are  very  kind  to 
come  and  waste  that  hour  with  me.  I  have  been  writing 
to  Miss  Merlin  about  her  debut.  Let  me  see,  this  is 
Thursday  ;  it  will  take  place  on  Friday  evening.  Shall 
I  add  a  postscript  to  say  that  you  are  certain  to  be 
there?" 

"Most  decidedly.     If  it  were  only  for  the  pleasure  of 


COLONEL  CLIFF  REPOKTS  FOE  OKDEES.   341 

having  a  moment's  chat  with  you  in  your  box,  I  would 
go,"  said  the  Colonel,  laying  his  hat  and  gloves  aside, 
and  seating  himself  in  an  arm-chair  near  the  desk. 

Alice  could  look  down  from  the  high  chair  in  which  she 
was  seated  into  his  face,  which,  although  marked  a  trifle 
here  and  there  by  the  hand  of  time,  was  handsome  and 
impressive.  As  the  conversation  proceeded,  his  confusion 
vanished,  and  gave  place  to  rather  more  resolution  than 
Alice  had  usually  remarked  in  his  demeanour.  He  looked 
like  a  man  who  had  made  up  his  mind  to  do  something 
decisive.  And  he  had. 

' '  I  have  called  in  vain  on  half  a  dozen  people  this 
afternoon,"  he  said.  "All  out.  Even  your  father  was 
not  in  his  office.  I  had  something  to  communicate  to  our 
friend  Mr.  Merrinott,  but  he  has  been  gone  from  Paris  for 
many  days,  I  learn.  Rather  mysterious  in  his  movements, 
Mr.  Merrinott  is.  He  changes  his  address  frequently, 
and  it  was  only  by  rallying  him  when  we  met  that  I  could 
get  him  to  tell  me  where  his  new  abode  was.  Nomadic 
instincts  inherited,  I  suppose.  Indian  blood,  and  all 
that." 

"Yes,"  said  Alice,  displaying  the  tips  of  two  daintily- 
shod  and  tiny  feet  as  she  whirled  the  library  chair 
around,  "he  has  vanished.  I  suppose  his  Indians  have 
claimed  him  again.  Perhaps  he  has  gone  into  a  corner 
to  brood  over  their  wrongs.  Or  perhaps  he  was  only 
a  wraith  ? ' '  There  was  a  mischievous  flash  of  seeming 
merriment  out  of  her  brilliant  eyes  as  she  added,  "  Do 
you  think  he  was  real  ?  Might  he  not  have  been  a 
phantom  ? ' ' 

"Well,  hardly,"  said  Colonel  Cliff,  laughing.  "He  was 
a  solid  reality,  and  a  dangerous  one,  some  years  ago,  when 
I  was  compelled  to  interfere  with  my  soldiers  to  keep  him 
out  of  a  fight.  I  suspect  he  has  gone  home  to  nourish  his 
feud.  Those  border  men  are  incorrigible.  But  did  he 


342  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

come  to  say  no  farewells  —  after  all  the  kindness  that  has 
been  shown " 

The  Colonel  stopped,  half  afraid  that  he  had  been  in- 
discreet. Yet  for  the  fulfilment  of  his  purpose  it  was 
absolutely  necessary  to  know  whether  or  not  the  Indian 
had  made  a  lasting  impression  on  Alice's  heart. 

"  Never  a  farewell  said  he,"  answered  the  girl.  "  He 
was  gone,  like  an  apparition.  I  suppose  some  day  we  shall 
read  of  him  in  a  great  border  war,  and  then  we  shall  be 
proud  of  having  known  such  a  celebrity." 

Evidently  this  was  not  the  manner  in  which  Alice 
would  speak  of  the  Indian  if  she  loved  him.  The  Colonel 
became  convinced  that  the  moment  had  arrived  for  the 
execution  of  his  plan.  He  had  returned  from  London 
decided,  if  he  were  not  warned  by  some  sign  that  it  was 
absolutely  useless,  to  ask  Alice  Harrelston  to  be  his  wife. 
His  prospects,  thanks  to  a  lucky  speculation,  were 
brilliant ;  he  knew  that  he  was  esteemed  by  Alice's 
family ;  the  Indian  appeared  to  have  taken  himself  out  of 
the  way ;  and  there,  in  the  library  chair  before  him,  sat 
the  sweetest,  loveliest  girl  he  had  ever  seen.  His  first 
wife,  a  fretful  }'oung  creature,  whom  he  had  married  in  a 
Western  village  where  he  had  been  stationed,  and  who  had 
lived  to  vex  him  with  constant  complaints  only  a  year, 
had  left  but  a  shadowy  memory.  Indeed,  her  image 
seemed  to  fade  away  entirely  now  that  he  looked  again  on 
Alice  Ilnrrelston,  with  her  gentle,  low  brow,  her  olive 
cheeks,  her  thin,  passionate  lips,  and  her  perfect  eyes.  In 
the  light  of  those  eyes  he  felt  that  he  could  be  happy 
always.  His  courage  increased  momentarily;  he  had 
arrived  at  the  proper  moment  —  he  was  to  be  the  victor. 
Joy!  His  voice  shook  with  emotion  as  he, continued  the 
conversation. 

41 1  hope  Mr.  Merriuott  will  confine  himself  to  legitimate 
work  for  his  own  people,"  he  said,  "and  then  he  could  do 


COLONEL  CLIFF  REPORTS  FOR  ORDERS.   343 

nothing  which  we  might  not  praise,  even  if  we  disagreed 
with  it.  But  I  must  still  confess  to  a  lurking  fear  that 
those  clever  Russian  plotters  have  turned  his  head.  He 
would  go  into  the  maddest  of  enterprises  and  lose  his  life 
gladly  if  he  thought  there  were  a  kind  of  duty  in  it.  I 
took  occasion  to  find  out  about  Mademoiselle  Vera,  whom 
you  met  in  Switzerland,  and  what  do  }-ou  think  I  dis- 
covered? Why,  that  she  is  one  of  the  most  determined 
of  the  wretched  gang  of  the  apostles  of  destruction." 

Alice  smiled  bitterly.  "What  could  he  tell  her  that  she 
did  not  know  ? 

' '  You  remember  we  fancied  that  it  might  be  a  mere 
coincidence  of  names;  and " 

Colonel  Cliff  heard  a  door  hastily  opened,  and  sprang 
up  in  alarm,  as  he  saw  a  mortal  whiteness  invade  the 
cheeks  of  Alice.  His  first  thought  was  that  the  adventur- 
ous Indian  might  have  returned  in  time  to  defend  his 
reputation  ;  but,  looking  around,  he  saw  no  one  but  the 
little  maid,  Bertine,  with  terror  written  on  her  usually 
placid  countenance. 

"  Will  you  excuse  me  a  moment,  Colonel,"  said  Alice, 
rising,  and  moving  to  the  door. 

While  he  murmured  "  Certainly,"  a  fear  that  some- 
thing had  occurred  to  blast  his  happiness,  to  ruin  his 
projects,  stole  into  his  mind.  The  wrinkles  in  his  fore- 
head seemed  to  grow  deeper,  and  grays  crept  into  his 
cheeks.  If  he  lost  Alice,  he  would  lose  the  last  remnants 
of  his  youth  ! 

Bertine  caught  her  young  mistress  tightly  by  the  arm, 
as  Alice  stepped  into  the  hall,  and,  placing  a  letter  in  the 
girl's  trembling  hands,  drew  her,  unresisting,  away  from 
the  stairway  into  a  corner,  and  whispered  — 

"  It's  another.  It  was  not  the  old  man  who  brought 
it,  but  it  is  from  them.  It  was  a  young  man.  He  ap- 
peared at  my  elbow  as  I  stood  in  the  garden.  '  Take  this 


344  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

to  Mademoiselle  Harrelston,'  be  said,  '  and  mind  you  give 
it  to  no  one  else.'  And,  b-r-r-r-r !  be  was  gone." 

Alice  glanced  at  the  envelope.  Tbe  superscription  was 
in  English.  "To  Mademoiselle  Alice  Harrelston,"  and 
theu  followed  the  address,  and  these  words,  "To  be 
delivered  in  ten  days."  The  letter  had  been  written  ten 
days  ago.  Alice  tore  it  open,  and  read  — 

"  When  you  receive  this  I  shall  be  so  far  away  that, 
even  if  my  own  heart  were  weak  enough  to  ask  me  to  go 
back  to  you,  I  could  not  reach  you  until  you  will  have 
•forgotten,  after  having,  I  hope,  forgiven,  me.  I  know 
that  my  conduct  has  seemed  to  you  inexcusable,  may  be 
insincere,  at  any  rate  culpable.  I  did  not  know  myself ; 
and  when  I  asked  you  to  save  me,  it  was  because  I  went 
with  hesitation  and  trembling  toward  the  mission  which  I 
have  now  imposed  upon  nryself.  I  reckon  }'ou  do  not 
care  to  have  me  explain  to  you  what  that  mission  is.  Old 
Ignatius,  in  his  anxiety  to  separate  you  from  me,  must 
have  given  you  some  hint  of  its  general  character. 

"  But  I  must  tell  you,  now  that  it  is  too  late,  that  if 
you  had  called  to  me,  if  you  had  given  me  word  or  look 
or  sign,  if  you  had  commanded  me,  on  that  night  when 
we  last  met,  I  would  have  followed  you  anywhere  and 
done  anything  for  you.  For  I  love  you  —  and  can  love  but 
you,  and  I  would  have  renounced  the  mission  —  my  race 
and  its  regeneration — everything  —  for  you  !  I  have  never 
dreamed  or  thought  of  any  other  than  you  since  I  held 
you  in  my  arms  at  the  canon  there  in  the  mountains,  after 
the  big  stone  had  come  so  near  to  crushing  you. 

"  Perhaps  it  would  have  been  better  —  a  powerful  sight 
better — for  me  to  have  stayed  by  you  and  won  your  love, 
and  worn  it  like  the  pearl  of  great  price  that  it  is ;  but 
somehow  1  could  not  reconcile  that  with  in}7  notions  of 
my  duty  —  until  it  was—  And  so  now,  good-bye. 
Forget  that  1  ever  existed,  for  hereafter  my  life  belongs 


COLONEL  CLIFF  REPORTS  FOR  OKDERS.   345 

only  to  the  companions  whom  I  have  voluntarily  chosen. 
My  thoughts  are  all  for  the  doctrine  to  which  I  have 
given  myself  —  after  grave  doubts  and  many  delays,  it  is 
true,  —  but  definitely  at  last*  I  do  not  tell  you  where  I  go  ; 
and  do  not  try  to  find  out.  Forgive  —  forget.  Good-bye. 

"P.M." 

Alice  crushed  the  missive  in  her  right  hand.,  and  looked 
up,  with  hot  tears  in  her  eyes,  but  with  a  proud  resolution 
on  her  lovely  face.  Her  lips  trembled,  but  she  felt  that 
she  was  still  mistress  of  her  emotions.  "  Not  find  out 
where  he  has  gone  !  "  she  whispered.  "  I  will  know,  if  he 
is  on  earth.  I  will  find  him,  and  save  him  yet.  And  as 
for  that  woman  —  that  mad  Russian  creature  who  has 
bewitched  him  with  her  wicked  doctrines,  she  shall  tell 

me  where  he  is,  or  she  shall !  I  knew  he  could  not 

love  her.  I  felt  that  he  was  true  —  and  yet  I  doubted  !  " 

"Mademoiselle  is  crying!"  said  Bertine  dolefully. 
"  Has  something  dreadful  happened?  " 

"No,  Bertine;  good  news,  glorious  news!"  and  she 
felt  like  adding,  u  He  loves  me  ;  he  has  never  been  false 
tome!"  but  she  made  a  great  effort  to  be  calm. 
"  Ecoute!  "  *  she  said,  "  Bertine  ;  watch  here  and  let  me 
know  when  mamma  is  about  to  come  downstairs.  Do  you 
understand  ?  ' ' 

"  Oh,  Mademoiselle,  she  will  not  be  ready  for  half  an 
hour  yet.  She  is  in  the  very  midst  of  her  pins  !  I  will 
watch." 

Alice  dried  her  eyes,  and  went  back  to  the  library,  her 
mind  concentrated  on  a  great  resolve.  Her  romantic  and 
impulsive  nature  was  now  thoroughly  aroused ;  she  was 
capable  of  daring,  of  heroic  deeds.  The  Colonel  was 
sitting  just  where  she  had  left  him,  but  with  his  head 
bowed  forward  and  his  eyes  staring  into  space.  He  had 
*  Listen. 


346  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

taken  up  one  of  his  gloves  and  was  idly  swinging  it  back 
and  forth.  He  did  not  hear  her  come  in  ;  he  was  absorbed 
in  the  contemplation  of  the  saddest  spectacle  that  man 
ever  looks  upon  —  the  departure  of  his  last  illusion.  A 
mysterious  presentiment  told  him  that  he  had  hoped  in 
vain  —  that  Alice  Harrelston  was  not  for  him. 

He  started,  and  his  face  lighted  up  as  he  heard  the 
girl's  rustling  robes  once  more  beside  him.  Alice  sat 
down  in  the  chair  at  the  desk,  and  looked  at  him  so 
strangely,  that  he  arose. 

"I  am  afraid  I  am  intruding,"  he  said.  "Has  any- 
thing —  is  there  any  —  thing ' ' 

"  Colonel  Cliff,"  said  Alice,  "  what  would  you  say  if  I 
asked  you  to  do  me  a  great  —  oh,  a  very  great  service 
—  something  for  which  I  could  never  hope  to  repay 
you?" 

"The  only  serious  object  which  I  have  in  life,  Miss 
Harrelston,"  said  the  Colonel,  a  trifle  gloomily,  "  is  to  be 
of  service  to  you.  In  fact,  if  I  might  be  allowed  to  devote 
my  whole  life  to  —  I  came  to-day  to  tell  you " 

His  heart  sank  within  him.  Alice  did  not  seem  to  hear 
his  stammering  hints  at  declaration. 

"  Colonel,"  she  said,  rising,  and  speaking  huskily,  while 
the  tears  came  back  to  dim  her  eyes,  *'  I  am  afraid  your 
worst  fears  have  been  realized  about — about  Mr.  Merrinott. 
There  seems  good  proof  that  he  has  been  drawn  into  a 
plot  by  the  Russians  of  whom  we  were  speaking  the  other 
day.  lie  has  gone  —  on  some  wild  mission  in  which  he  will 
lose  his  life  or  his  honour.  Colonel,  I  want  to  ask  you  if 
you  will  help  me  to  find  him,  and  save  him?  "  It  was  said 
sweetly  ;  her  eyes  were  downcast,  and  a  faint  blush  tinged 
her  cheeks.  "  To  save  him,"  she  continued,  "  from  him- 
self. And  the  first  thing  to  do  is  to  find  that  Russian  girl 
Vera,  and  to  make,  her  tell  where  he  has  gone.  Oh  !  if  I 
were  a  man  !  I  would  make  her  tell.  Will  you  find  her 


COLONEL  CLIFF  EEPORTS  FOR  ORDERS.   347 

this  very  day,  if  she  is  in  Paris,  Colonel  Cliff,  and  make 
her  tell  the  truth?" 

"I  will,"  he  answered,  after  a  minute's  reflection.  It 
takes  at  least  a  minute  for  the  best  of  men  unselfishly  to 
put  away  his  heart's  fondest  desire.  "I  will;  consider 
me  as  on  duty  for  you  in  this  matter.  Use  me  as  you 
will.  The  first  thing,  then,  is  to  find  Mademoiselle  Vera 
—  and  make  her  tell  where  Mr.  Merrinott  is?  " 

"Do  you  think  you  can  do  it  ?  "  said  Alice  eagerly. 
"And  remember  —  not  a  word  to  my  parents  —  to  any 
one." 

"  I  think  I  know  a  way  to  make  her  speak,"  he  said. 
"  But  it  may  be  a  little  difficult.  I  will  do  my  best,  and 
to-morrow  morning  I  will  report  to  you  for  orders.  I 
shall  hardly  have  accomplished  anythiug  before  that  time. 
And,  if  you  will  excuse  me,  I  will  take  my  leave  at  once, 
as  I  may  find  still  at  his  office  a  certain  diplomat  who 
usually  keeps  well  informed  about  this  person  Vera's 
movements.  Count  on  me,  Miss  Harrelston,  count  on  me 
absolutely." 

He  held  out  his  hand ;  it  trembled  a  little.  Alice 
looked  up  at  him  as  she  gave  him  hers.  She  was  some- 
what surprised  at  an  indefinable  change  in  his  voice  and 
manner  —  but  he  was,  if  possible,  more  kindly  and  courte- 
ous than  ever. 

"  You  can  never  know  how  grateful  I  am  for  your 
aid,"  she  said. 

He  let  her  hand  fall,  and  took  up  his  hat  and  made 
her  a  military  bow.  He  felt  like  an  officer  going  on  an 
important  secret  mission  on  which  life  depended. 

"  I  will  do  my  best,"  he  said. 

At  that  moment  Bertine,  dismayed  at  finding  that  she 
had  miscalculated  the  time  which  it  would  take  Mrs. 
Harrelston  to  complete  her  toilette,  opened  the  door,  and 
signalled  desperately  to  Alice  that  her  mother  would  be 


348  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

down  iii  a  moment.  So  Alice  rather  expedited  the  good 
Colonel's  departure.  He  went  his  way,  feeling  that  the 
sun  had  lost  its  brightness  for  him ;  and  Alice,  seated  at 
the  writing-desk,  was  calmly  finishing  her  note  to  Caro 
when  Mrs.  Harrelston  came  in,  equipped  for  her  afternoon 
visits. 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

UNMASKING. 

CARO  threw  aside  the  little  calendar  at  which  she  had  been 
looking,  and  clambered  out  of  the  old  leathern  arm-chair 
with  a  doleful  expression  .on  her  resolute  young  face. 
"  The  twentieth  of  October,  and  Thursday ;  there  is  no 
doubt  about  it!"  she  said.  "And  that  means  that  to- 
morrow will  be  the  twenty-first,  and  that  I  must  make 
my  debut  on  a  Friday  !  How  strange  that  I  should  never 
have  thought  of  this  before !  Now  if  I  were  super- 
stitious  !"  She  threw  a  shawl  over  her  shoulders, 

and  went  up  to  the  balcony  in  the  roof. 

It  was  quite  dark,  and  the  autumn  evening  was  cool. 
A  capricious  wind  that  had  come  from  the  sea-coast,  and 
had  brought  the  perfume  of  the  ocean  on  its  wings,  was 
hanging  about  the  heights  of  Montmartre,  making  the  loose 
tiles  on  the  houses  rattle,  and  filling  the  small  groves  of 
horse-chestnuts,  acacias,  and  sycamores  in  the  gardens 
with  quaint  moanings  and  sighings.  There  was  a  proph- 
ecy of  November  damps  and  fogs  in  the  air.  In  the 
vast  city  below,  myriads  of  lights  were  shining  out  of  the 
shadows  in  all  directions  and  twinkling  like  stars.  Caro 
amused  herself  for  a  minute  with  the  fancy  that  they 
resembled  constellations  in  some  firmament  above  which 
she  had  mounted. 

349 


350  THE   GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

"  To-morrow  night,  when  I' come  up  from  the  theatre," 
she  said  aloud,  as  she  leaned  on  the  balcony  railing  and 
gazed  at  the  millions  of  tiny  flames  which  marked  the 
almost  countless  abodes  of  the  dwellers  below,  "to-mor- 
row —  shall  I  have  won  victory  or  defeat  down  there  ?  ' ' 

The  wind  came  to  toy  with  her  hair  and  to  tug  at  her 
shawl,  as  if  to  divert  her  attention  from  her  fears  for  the 
morrow.  But  she  did  not  heed  it.  "  If  I  fail,"  she  con- 
tinued, "  I  shall  never  wish  to  see  that  sight  again  !  "  and 
she  indicated  Paris  and  its  lights  with  a  sweeping  gesture. 
"  I  should  feel  like  a  general  looking  at  a  fortress  which 
he  has  failed  to  conquer !  And  where  is  Stanislas  ?  Why 
doesn't  he  come?  " 

Caro  had  been  watching  for  some  days  for  the  arrival 
of  Stanislas  from  Germany,  whither  he  had  gone,  as  he 
told  her,  on  a  professional  journey,  a  certain  high-tempered 
Teutonic  impresario  having  threatened  him  with  an  action 
for  damages,  and  a  variety  of  disagreeable  correspondence 
in  the  newspapers,  if  the  musician  persisted  in  breaking 
his  engagement  with  him,  as  he  had  done  with  so  many 
others  since  his  passionate  declaration  to  Caro  on  the 
house-top  in  the  Rue  de  1'Orient.  The  time  fixed  for  the 
return  was  long  past,  and  Caro  was  oppressed  with  anxiety 
lest  Stanislas  should  not  come  back  iu  time  to  be  present 
at  her  dtbut.  There  were  phases  of  his  conduct,  latterly, 
which  her  reason  could  not  explain,  but  which  her  affec- 
tion was  resolved  to  pardon. 

Stanislas  was  evidently  ill  at  ease,  and  there  were 
moments  when  he  seemed  haunted  by  a  vague  dread  of 
some  shadowy  danger.  There  was  a  furtive  look  in  his 
e3-es,  and  the  enthusiastic  gaiety  usually  so  characteristic 
of  him  appeared  wholly  subdued.  For  a  day  or  two  before 
his  departure  for  Germany  he  had  answered  Caro's  ques- 
tions with  an  absent  and  preoccupied  air,  and  once  —  but 
once  only  —  when  he  was  advising  her  concerning  a  pas- 


UNMASKING.  351 

sage  in  an  aria,  he  manifested  real  petulance.  The  girl  was 
astonished,  and  felt  certain  that  the  hidden  griefs  or  cares, 
of  which  these  things  were  the  outward  manifestations, 
had  some  mysterious  relation  to  the  eccentric  career  of  his 
"sister,"  or  the  girl  whom  he  called  his  sister,  Vera.  Too 
loyal  to  take  any  secret  measures  for  discovering  the  exact 
nature  of  the  relations  between  Stanislas  and  Vera,  Miss 
Merlin  had  contented  herself  as  best  she  couldi  up  to  the 
time  of  the  musician's  absence,  with  Colonel  Cliff's  ex- 
planation of  Vera's  probable  aims,  and  with  Stanislas's 
occasional  mentions  of  her  as  "well-meaning,  but  eccen- 
tric," or  as  "  half  crazy  over  philosophy  and  medicine." 
She  had  had  no  chance  for  an  outpouring  of  all  her  hopes, 
her  love  and  her  suspicions,  to  Alice  ;  she  would  have  been 
glad  of  an  opportunity,  but  Alice,  who  "  nursed  her  deep 
wound  in  her  silent  breast,"  thought  that  she  had  the  best 
of  reasons  for  avoiding  intimate  conversation  with  the 
young  Western  girl. 

A  swallow  flew  circling  around  Caro's  head  three  or 
four  times  as  she  turned  away  from  the  balcony's  edge  to 
go  downstairs,  and  in  the  small  bird's  weird  cry  there 
was,  as  it  seemed  to  her  excited  spirit,  a  kind  of  foreboding 
of  evil.  She  shuddered,  and  went  down  to  the  study- 
room,  where,  seated  at  the  piano  and  listlessly  evoking 
idle  melodies,  she  waited  for  the  much-desired  corning  of 
Stanislas.  Joined  to  the  impatience  of  the  lover  was  now 
a  mysterious  and  scarcely-defined  displeasure.  But  Caro 
would  not,  could  not,  visit  it  upon  the  musician  alone. 
"What  if  his  strange  sister  —  his  queer  protegee,  Vera,  had 
got  him  into  trouble  with  her  silly  plots ! 

"  I  declare  !  "  she  said  aloud,  jumping  up  and  looking 
for  her  hat,  "  I  am  half  inclined  to  go  to  the  place  where 
they  live,  and  if  I  can  see  Mademoiselle  Vera,  to  ask  for 
an  account  of  her  brother's  movements.  Perhaps  she  will 
deign  to  explain,  too,  why  she  has  not  acknowledged  the 


352  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

ticket  which  I  sent  her  for  the  concert  to-morrow  night. 
I  will  go  !  I  cannot  sleep  until  I  know  whether  Tie  is  to 
be  here  then  !  " 

Ten  minutes  later  Caro,  modestly  robed  in  black, 
slipped  out  of  the  house  and  through  the  little  garden  into 
the  street.  Her  mother  was  waiting  patiently  at  a  dress- 
maker's,, in  the  Faubourg  Saint  Honore,  for  the  last 
touches  to  the  concert  dress  for  the  morrow.  Good  Mrs. 
Merlin  would  not  rely  on  the  man-milliner's  promises  to 
send  the  sacred  garment  at  an  early  hour  the  next  morn- 
ing, and  had  grimly  determined  to  see  it  completed  and 
iu  her  possession  some  time  before  midnight.  The  girl  felt 
a  little  timid  as  she  went  down  the  Rue  Lepic  alone,  but 
presently  she  hailed  a  passing  carriage,  and  shortly  before 
iiiue  o'clock  she  arrived  without  adventure -at  the  door 
of  the  handsome  mansion  in  the  Boulevard  Malesherbes 
where  Stanislas  and  his  "sister"  Vera  resided.  The 
tenant  of  the  porter's  lodge,  a  fat  and  fluffy  old  man  of 
indolent  disposition,  did  not  even  take  the  trouble  to  look 
at  her  as  he  answered  her  faltering  inquiry  whether 
Monsieur  Stanislas  had  yet  returned  from  Germany. 
He  was  having  his  dinner  all  alone  at  a  small  round  table, 
and  his  back  was  turned  to  Caro.  He  took  his  soup- 
spoon out  of  his  mouth,  and  answered,  very  tartly,  "I 
don't  know  any  thing  about  }'our  Germany ;  but  if  you 
want  Monsieur  Stanislas,  you  will  find  him  in  his  room  — 
sixth  floor,  first  door  on  the  right.  You  must  knock  ; 
some  one  pulled  down  the  bell-cord  yesterday,  and  I  have 
no  time  to  put  it  up." 

He  went  on  grumbling  and  eating,  while  Caro,  into 
whose  cheeks  a  rosy  colour  had  sprung,  went  slowly  up 
the  first  (light  of  stairs,  trying  to  persuade  herself  that  it 
was  not  proper  to  call  on  the  musician  now  that  he  had 
come  home.  Why  had  he  not  flown  to  find  her?  Her  faint 
mistrust  began  to  assume  a  definite  form,  and  it  made  her 


UNMASKING.  353 

heart  ache.  No !  she  would  ask  for  Vera ;  and  theu  he 
would  hasten  to  her  —  he  would  explain,  and  all  would  be 
well. 

The  apartment  occupied  by  the  musician,  at  the  top  of 
the  house,  was  what  is  known  in  Paris  as  a  terrasse;  that 
is,  it  possessed  a  large  and  handsome  balcony,  decorated 
with  flowers  and  vines,  and  as  there  was  no  storey  save 
that  in  the  Mansard  roof  above  it,  it  had  the  merit  of  afford- 
ing that  comparative  seclusion  so  precious  to  the  dwellers 
in  great  cities.  The  terrasses  usually  rent  for  rather  more 
money  than  the  two  floors  below,  because  they  are  preferred. 

Caro  found  the  door  on  the  right  open,  and  she  saw 
a  dimly-lighted  ante-chamber,  richly-furnished  with  carpets 
and  carved  wooden  chairs,  and  a  curious  cabinet  littered 
with  books,  sheets  of  music,  and  bric-a-brac.  There  was 
an  odour  of  delicately  perfumed  oriental  tobacco  in  the 
air.  The  girl  knocked  stoutly  once  —  twice,  and  stood 
almost  breathless,  and  a  trifle  flushed,  hoping  that  the 
servant  would  speedily  appear.  But  no  one  came.  Again 
she  knocked ;  still  no  answer.  She  glanced  at  the  bell- 
cord  ;  it  was  broken,  as  the  concierge  had  said.  One  more 
knock.  The  strange  silence  terrified  her.  What  if  there 
had  been  a  disaster,  a  crime  within? 

Hardly  realizing  what  she  was  doing,  she  stepped  into 
the  ante-chamber,  her  footsteps  falling  noiselessly  on  the 
thick  carpets,  and  moved  toward  the  open  door  of  a  large 
room  at  the  left.  Just  as  she  had  decided  not  to  enter 
there,  but  to  beat  a  hasty  retreat,  she  heard  the  sound  of 
voices,  —  evidently  in  a  room  fronting  on  the  street,  —  and 
a  moment  afterward  the  musician's  familiar  tones.  The 
awkwardness  of  her  position  was  clearly  apparent  to  her, 
and  she  flitted  into  the  room  on  the  left,  and  took  refuge 
behind  a  tall  and  ample  old-fashioned  screen  in  a  corner, 
just  as  Stanislas  strode  forward  to  close  the  outer  door  of 
the  apartment.  Then  she  heard  him  return  to  his  com- 


354  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

panion,  and  she  was  a  little  surprised  to  hear  him  say  in 
English  — 

' '  Do  you  not  think  it  would  be  better  to  step  in  from 
the  balcony  ?  If  she  were  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  you  from 
the  street,  she  might  not  come  up ;  she  is  exceedingly 
mefiante*  lately." 

u  And  not  without  reason,  one  might  almost  say,"  was 
the  rejoinder,  in  a  voice  which  sounded  curiously  familiar 
to  Caro,  but  which  she  was  too  terrified  and  perplexed 
readily  to  recognize.  She  discovered  that  the  screen  was 
not  far  from  a  door  —  concealed  by  two  thick  curtains  — 
which  opened  into  what  was  probably  the  drawing-room  ; 
and  every  word  of  the  conversation  reached  her  distinctly. 
What  should  she  do?  Should  she  venture  forth,  and  try 
to  regain  the  outer  door  without  attracting  qotice  ?  What 
apology  could  she  offer  if  her  lover  found  her  escaping 
from  his  lodgings?  Fortunately,  there  was  a  chair  behind 
the  screen  ;  she  sank  into  it,  in  doubt  as  to  which  made 
the  most  noise,  the  beating  of  her  heart  or  the  rustling  of 
her  dress ;  and  she  determined  not  to  stir  from  her  con- 
cealment until  she  were  a  little  more  composed. 

The  faint  notes  of  a  piano  reached  Caro's  ears.  She 
could  picture  the  3'oung  musician,  in  her  fancy,  seated  at 
the  instrument  as  he  talked  with  his  visitor,  letting  his 
shapely  hands  stray  to  and  fro  along  the  ke3's,  now  striking 
a  chord  to  emphasize  his  remark,  now  caressing  the  ivory 
as  if  he  loved  it  and  thought  it  received  pleasure  from  his 
touch. 

"  I  am  bound  to  tell  you,"  said  Stanislas  to  his  com- 
panion, "  that  I  am  entirely  ignorant  of  Mr.  Merrinott's 
whereabouts.  The  poor  American  !  To  think  that  he 
should  be  distracted  by ."  He  struck  the  keys  im- 
petuously, bringing  forth  jarring  discord.  "When  Vera 
comes  in  you  can  ask  hcvr,  but  I  doubt  if  she  will  answei 
*  Suspicious. 


UNMASKING.  855 

you.  Do  you  know  I  am  not  sorry  that  you  are  here. 
I  shall  be  pleased  to  have  a  witness  of  something  that  I 
myself  have  to  say  to  Vera.  I  hope  you  will  not  think 
it  very  strange,  but  perhaps  it  will  be  a  new  .phase  of 
European  life  for  you  to  contemplate." 

' '  I  confess  that  it  would  require  something  strikingly 
novel  to  astonish  me,"  said  the  visitor.  "  Every-day  life 
in  Europe  certainly  affords  capital  chances  for  the  study  of 
the  romantic.  But,  to  be  serious,  Monsieur  Stanislas, 
nothing  has  puzzled  me  more  than  your  relation  to  this 
singular,  and,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  say  so,  this  abomin- 
able conspiracy.  How  and  What  you  can  expect  to  gain 
by  it  I  am  at  a  loss  to  discover.  As  a  wise  brother,  you 
ought  to  have  discouraged  Mademoiselle  Vera's  rdle  in  it 
long  ago  ;  and  as  an  artist,  a  man  of  genius,  I  cannot  con- 
ceive how  the  vulgarity  of  the  plot  has  not  offended  your 
aesthetic  sense." 

Stanislas  laughed  uneasily,  and  answered,  "You  will 
not  have  to  wait  long  for  the  solution  of  the  riddle,  and  I 
trust  that  you  will  not  judge  my  action  too  harshly." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  other.  "I  will  wait.  But 
remember  that  the  main  object  of  my  visit  is  to  learn  in 
which  direction  Pleasant  Merrinott  has  been  sent  by  these 
misguided  people,  and  that  I  shall  spare  no  effort  to  learn 
this.  If  you  could  counsel  your  sister  not  to  be  stubborn, 

it  might  be .     Once  or  twice  I  have  heard  you  speak 

as  if  you  were  anything  rather  than  sympathetic  for  the 
conspiring  disciples  of  Bakounin." 

•  "You  have  given  me  your  word  that  you  will  wait," 
said  Stanislas.  "  Hush  !  there  is  her  key  in  the  lock  now. 
She  is  punctual  as  the  sun." 

Caro  started  up  from  her  chair,  for  she  heard  the  well- 
remembered  voice  of  Vera.  That  mystical  personage  was, 
however,  saying  nothing  extraordinary.  She  merely  gave 
directions  to  some  one  who  had  accompanied  her  to  set 


356  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

various  parcels  in  a  corner  of  the  ante-chamber,  thanked 
him  gracefully  in  French,  closed  the  door  after  him,  and 
then  Caro  heard  her  pass  lightly  through  the  room,  and  so 
near  the  screen  that  her  dress  brushed  against  it. 

"  She  has  gone  to  her  own  apartments,"  said  Stanislas 
to  his  visitor  in  a  low  tone.  "  Be  ready,  please,  to  be  pre- 
sented at  once  when  she  comes  in  here." 

Then  there  was  a  long  silence.  Caro  had  seated  her- 
self again,  and  exercised  her  will  vigorously  to  restrain 
her  longing  to  overturn  the  screen  and  to  escape  hastily 
from  the  apartment.  Presently  she  heard  the  rustle  of 
robes  ;  the  curtain  concealing  the  entrance  to  the  room  in 
which  the  musician  and  his  visitor  sat  was  pushed  aside, 
and  Vera  had  evidently  entered.  This  is  what  Caro  would 
have  seen,  had  she  ventured  forth  from  her  hiding  place  :  — 

The  Russian  girl  was  dressed  in  black,  and  wore  no 
ornament  of  any  description.  Her  wavy,  chestnut  hair 
was  no  longer  worn  in  masculine  fashion,  but  was  combed 
smoothly  down  and  parted  in  the  middle.  The  sternness 
of  her  face  seemed  to  have  been  softened  ;  instead  of  the 
sinister  look  so  often  there  one  could  now  perceive  only 
the  shimmering  flame  of  an  exalted  enthusiasm.  As  she 
came  forward  so  that  the  light  from  the  lamp  on  the  piano 
fell  fully  upon  her,  the  musician's  visitor  arose.  Vera 
stepped  hastily  backward. 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  she  said  in  French.  "  I  had  understood 
that  brother  Stanislas  would  be  alone  this  evening " 

"You  may  speak  in  English,  Vera,"  said  Stanislas, 
drumming  faintly  on  the  piane.  "  This  gentleman  is  my 
friend,  Colonel  Cliff.  I  believe  you  have  never  met  before, 
although  you  have  often  heard  of  each  other— in  the  moun- 
tains—  do  you  not  remember?  " 

Vera  gave  the  good  Colonel  a  look  which  seemed  to 
penetrate  his  very  soul.  Then  she  stepped  forward  and 
offered  him  her  hand,  after  which  she  took  the  hand  which 


UNMASKING.  357 

Stanislas  extended,  and  held  it  for  an  instant  in  both  her 
own,  then. let  it  fall.  It  was  done  so  gracefully,  and  with 
such  an  air  of  reverence,  that  the  Colonel  fancied  it  might 
be  some  Russian  custom,  which  he  now  saw  for  the  first 
time. 

"  A  friend  of  those  charming  people,  the  Harrelstons, 
is  it  not?  —  at  least,  I  think  so,"  said  Vera,  apparently 
finding  some  slight  difficulty  in  getting  her  thoughts  into 
English  harness,  but,  when  they  were  once  in,  conducting 
them  with  admirable  ease,  "  and  of  that  sweet  little  singer, 
Miss  Merlin.  How  is  it  that  I  did  not  have  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  you  in  Switzerland,  Col-o-nel?  "  inquired  Vera. 
All  the  time  that  she  was  talking  she  was  studying  both 
Stanislas  and  the  Colonel,  and  not  one  of  their  slightest 
gestures  escaped  her  attention. 

"  I  am  sorry  that  we  did  not  meet  in  the  mountains," 
he  said  vaguely,  and  with  somewhat  embarrassed  air. 
He  was  thinking  that  his  mission  might  be  rendered 
fruitless  —  unless  he  conducted  it  very  skilfully  —  by  the 
phenomenal  self-possession  and  wariness  of  this  remarka- 
ble young  woman,  who  inspired  him  for  the  moment  with 
both  curiosity  and  awe.  "  I  had  separated  from  my 
friends  before  they  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you." 

"That  was  a  misfortune  for  them,  as  for  me,"  said 
Vera.  looking  straight  into  his  eyes.  She  was  trying  to 
discover  whether  Alice  had  told  him  of  her  visit  to  the 
abode  of  old  Ignatius.  She  saw  at  once  that  the  Colonel 
was  a  man  of  energy  and  decision,  and  that  he  was  likely 
to  prove  her  match.  "  We  were  quite  merry  for  a  short 
time  in  Berne,"  she  added.  "  I  like  Americans  ;  they  are 
not  stiff,  and  formal,  and  —  and  —  they  are  original.  The 
Indian,  Mr.  Merrinott  —  I  fancy  you  know  him,  Col-o-nel? 
Ah !  he  was  exceedingly  original.  Perhaps  your  friends 
have  told  you  of  the  curious  wager  that  we  made." 

"  It  was  to  ask  us  a  question  about  Mr.  Merrinott  that 


358  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

Colonel  Cliff  called  on  us  this  evening,"  interrupted 
Stanislas,  bending  down  to  a  pile  of  music  books  at  his 
right  hand,  and  taking  up  one  carelessh". 

"Yes,"  said  the  Colonel,  rising  and  stepping  briskly 
forward  so  that  he  stood  between  Vera  and  Stanislas.  "  I 
have  taken  the  liberty  of  calling,  at  the  request  of  a 
friend,  to  ask  you  "  —  and  he  turned  quietly  to  Vera  — 
"  if  you  will  be  good  enough  to  inform  us  of  the  present 
whereabouts  of  the  young  Indian." 

Vera  sat  down  on  a  sofa  and  smoothed  out  the  folds  in 
her  black  dress.  Then  she  answered  tranquill}7,  "  I  saw 
a  good  deal  of  Mr.  Merrinott  for  a  time.  He  was  very 
interesting  and  sympathetic.  But  for  the  last  ten  days  -I 
have  not  seen  him." 

"  Well,"  said  Colonel  Cliff,  as  quietly  as  if  he  were 
reciting  a  fact  which  was  current  news,  "  knowing  that 
you  were  instrumental  in  sending  him  on  his  mission,  I 
thought  it  but  natural  that  you  should  be  able  to  tell  me 
in  what  direction  he  had  gone."  He  started,  for  Vera 
had  sprung  to  her  feet,  and  approached  him  with  a  dan- 
gerous whiteness  in  her  face. 

"So  the  American  girl  has  betrayed  us!"  she  said, 
proudly  raising  her  head  and  looking  at  the  Colonel  with 
flashing  eyes. 

"Not  at  all,"  answered  Colonel  Cliff.  "You  have 
betrayed  yourself. ' ' 

"  Monsieur  does  not  make  his  meaning  clear." 

"  But  I  will  do  so,"  said  the  Colonel.  "You  will  have 
nothing  to  lose  by  telling  me  where  Mr.  Merrinott  has 
gone,  that  I  may  take  measures  for  restoring  him  to  his 
friends  before  it  is  perhaps  too  late  to  prevent  him  from 
committing  a  crime.  Let  me  speak  with  perfect  plainness. 
By  utter  frankness  now  I  may  be  able  to  save  }*ou  from 
ruin.  Mademoiselle,  your  plans,  your  conspiracy,  your 
secret  aims  are  all  known  ;  your  accomplices  in  Russia  and 


UNMASKING.  359 

Germany  are  in  the  hands  of  the  police,  and  those  stationed 
here  are  surrounded  by  such  a  network  of  governmental 
weaving  that  they  cannot  make  a  decided  movement  with- 
out danger  to  themselves.  And  as  for  you,  Mademoiselle, 
the  only  reason  that  you  have  not  been  expelled  adroitly 
from  France  so  as  to  fall  into  German  hands,  from  which 
you  would  be  delivered  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the 
Russians,  is  to  be  found  in  the  intervention  of  a  single 
person." 

The  Colonel  had  seen  many  piteous  sights  in  his  time, 
but  never  anything  so  worthy  of  supreme  pity  as  the 
Russian  girl's  face  when  he  uttered  these  last  words.  He 
turned  away  for  an  instant.  Vera  moved  and  terrified  him. 

She  tried  to  speak,  but  the  words  choked  in  her  throat. 
For  a  minute  or  two  she  stood  mutely  gazing,  first  on 
Stanislas,  then  on  the  Colonel,  as  if  incapable  of  fully 
comprehending  the  cruel  yet  earnest  words  which  announced 
the  ruin  of  her  hopes.  At  last  she  found  her  voice. 
Advancing  to  the  piano,  she  stretched  out  her  hand,  asking 
feebly  — 

"And  who  —  is  the  person  who  has  been  gracious 
enough  to  interfere  in  my  behalf?  " 

"  Why,  there  he  sits  !  "  said  the  Colonel,  turning,  with 
a  flash  of  scorn  in  his  eyes,  and  pointing  to  Stanislas. 

"  He  knows  it,  then,  and  has  been  playing  with  me  !  " 
muttered  the  musician,  quitting  his  seat  and  glancing 
quickly  around  him.  "Ah!  Monsieur,  you  might  have 
spared  me  this!  " 

He  heard  a  faint  cry  in  the  adjoining  room,  and  it 
almost  stopped  the  beating  of  his  heart.  Was  the  avenger 
already  at  hand? 

Vera  seemed  to  possess  wonderful  strength  and  com- 
posure. Her  voice  trembled,  but  her  eyes  were  dry,  as 
she  said,  "I  do  not  understand  you.  Do  you  mean 
Stanislas?  " 


360  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

"Yes.  Your  brother."  Despite  the  compassion  which 
the  Colonel  felt  for  the  poor  girl's  woful  plight,  he  could 
not  refrain  from  laying  a  slightly  malicious  emphasis  on 
the  word  brother.  He  felt  that  now  he  should  have  an 
explanation  of  the  strange  relations  of  this  singular  pair. 

"My  brother!  Since  you  seem  to  know  everything 
that  concerns  us,  I  suppose  you  have  discovered  that  he  is 
not  my  brother.  Oh,  Stanislas  !  What  have  you  done?  " 

"  Be  calm,  Vera,"  said  the  musician,  whose  face  was 
now  whiter  than  the  girl's.  "  You  will  understand  all  in 
time.  You  will  see  that  I  was  bound  —  that  I  was  com- 
pelled—  that  I  wished  to  save  you  from  yourself " 

She  interrupted  him  with  a  hoarse  cry,  followed  by  a 
dozen  words  in  a  language  which  neither  the  Colonel  nor 
Caro  understood.  Then  she  turned  to  Colonel  Cliff  and 
addressed  him  in  English  again.  The  resistless  and  over- 
whelming manner  in  which  the  wave  of  her  passion 
mounted  to  her  brain  alarmed  him.  He  feared  that  some 
great  tragedy  might  suddenly  spring  from  this  white  heat. 


CHAPTER  XXXH. 

VERA    IN   THE   TOILS. 

"J/2/  brother  I"  repeated  the  girl,  with  a  strange  com- 
mingling of  sorrowful  reproach  and  scorn  in  her  tones. 
' '  The  man  in  whom  I  believed  as  I  believed  in  nothing 
else  on  earth ! ' ' 

She  gazed  steadfastly  at  the  musician  for  a  few 
moments,  as  if  she  expected  him  to  defend  himself,  to 
cry  out,  to  come  to  her  side,  and  to  tell  her  that  it  was 
all  a  horrible  dream.  But,  seeing  that  he  had  reseated 
himself  at  the  piano,  and  was  looking  down  rather  con- 
fusedly at  the  white  ke3's,  she  staggered  back  to  the  sofar 
sat  down,  took  a  handkerchief  from  her  pocket  and  wiped 
her  lips  with  it.  The  Colonel's  quick  eyes  saw  that  it 
was  stained  with  blood. 

"  You  are  ill !  "  he  cried.  "  Be  calm  ;  there  is  nothing 
to  fear ;  it  is  dangerous  to  excite  yourself.  Can  I  help 
you?" 

She  arose,  and  the  old  mystical,  exalted  look  came  over 
her  face.  " No,"  she  answered,  huskily.  "If  you  wish  to 
aid  any  one,  help  him."  And  she  pointed  to  the  musician. 
"But  all  the  medical  skill  in  Paris  —  all  the  doctors  in 
Europe  —  could  not  save  him  now.  He  is  a  dead  man." 

Stanislas  struck  heavily  with  one  hand  on  the  piano, 
bringing  out  a  harsh  discord,  and  sprang  up.  "  Do  not 

361 


362  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

listen  to  her  foolish  talk,"  he  said  to  Colonel  Cliff.  "  She 
is  ill  —  she  raves  when  she  is  in  that  excited  state.  "We 
shall  have  her  in  convulsions  directly  !  Vera,  you  are 
angry  with  me  now ;  but  when  you  have  had  time  to 
reflect,  when  you  see  what  I  have  saved  you  from,  you 
will  thank  me." 

A  spasm  contracted  the  girl's  face.  There  was  a  faiut 
gurgling  in  her  throat,  and  again  she  pressed  the  hand- 
kerchief to  her  lips.  But  now  she  kept  her  eyes  tightly 
fixed  upon  Stanislas,  as  if  she  were  afraid  to  lose  sight  of 
him  even  for  an  instant.  He  came  up  to  her  and  tried  to 
take  her  hands  in  his,  but  she  dexterously  moved  around 
an  arm-chair,  so  that  it  stood  between  him  and  herself. 

••  I  am  glad  this  American  gentleman  is  here  as  a 
witness!  I  wish  him  to  hear  what  I  have  to  say,"  con- 
tinued the  musician.  "Vera!  it  was  all  a  dream  from 
the  first — a  noble,  bewitching,  golden  dream  —  if  you  like 
—  but  without  the  smallest  chance  of  realization." 

••Of  what  are  you  speaking?"  said  the  girl,  making 
a  desperate  effort  to  control  the  nervous  twitching  of  the 
muscles  of  her  cheeks. 

i;Of  what  am  I  speaking?  Why,  of  the  Nihilist 
revolution  —  the  grand  Pan-destruction  which  you  have 
dreamed  of  night  and  day,  ever  since  I  first  met  you  in 
Moscow  and  heard  you  tell  the  pathetic  story  of  your 
parents'  exile  to  Siberia.  You  drew  me  into  it  so  prettily, 
with  your  splendid  enthusiasm  and  your  fine  reasoning, 
that  I  was  committed  before  I  knew  where  I  was.  Ah ! 
Bakounin  was  right  when,  in  his '  Revolutionary  Catechism,' 
he  said,  •  The  most  precious  helpers  in  the  work  are  women 
who  arc  completely  initiated  and  who  accept  our  entire 
programme.  Without  their  aid  we  can  do  nothing.'  He 
had  a  subtle  mind  —  this  Bakounin  —  and  he  knew  that  with 
this  aid  his  disciples  could  do  everything.  Bah  !  you  had 
made  me  a  conspirator  before  I  knew  that  I  had  talked 


VEKA   IN  THE   TOILS. 

with  3Tou  about  anything  more  serious  than  music.  A 
conspirator !  I  —  a  boy  musician.  It  makes  me  smile 
when  I  remember  it !  " 

"  Stanislas,"  said  the  girl,  "  your  voice  comes  to  me  as 
from  the  dead.  Remember  that  for  me  you  exist  no 
longer.  You  have  signed  your  own  death  warrant.  What 
you  may  say  or  do  now  can  have  no  importance." 

"  Pas  si  vite  I  "  *  cried  the  musician,  impatiently  stamp- 
ing his  foot  on  the  carpet.  "  I  am  not  dead  yet,  if  you 
please,  and  I  know  perfectly  well  what  I  am  saying. 
You  shall  hear  me  out !  I  am  not  afraid  of  the  assassins 
of  the  society."  Yet  his  voice  wavered,  and  he  glanced 
around  hurriedly  as  he  said  these  last  words.  "I  shall 
have  protection.  I  will  not  be  dictated  to  by  these  all- 
destroying  fiends." 

Vera  smiled  scornfully.  "  You  have  just  quoted,"  she 
said,  "  from  Bakounin's  '  Revolutionary  Catechism.'  Do 
you  remember  his  definition  of  his  idea  of  the  Revolu- 
tionist? Let  me  repeat  it  for  you." 

She  coughed  faintly  ;  then,  folding  her  hands  and  clos- 
ing her  eyes,  she  spoke  the  following  sentences  slowly  and 
impressively:  "'The  Revolutionist  is  a  devoted  man. 
He  must  have  neither  personal  interests,  nor  affaire,  nor 
sentiments,  nor  property.  He  must  allow  himself  to  be 
absorbed  entirely  into  a  single  exclusive  idea,  one  sole 
thought  —  one  passion  —  the  Revolution  !  He  has  but 
one  aim  ;  he  knows  but  one  science  —  destruction.  For 
that,  and  for  nothing  but  that,  he  must  study  mechanics, 
physics,  chemistry,  and  sometimes  medicine.  He  must 
observe,  for  the  same  end,  men,  characters,  positions,  and 
all  the  conditions  of  the  social  order.  He  must  despise 
and  hate  the  present  moral  code.  For  him  everything  is 
moral  which  favours  the  triumph  of  the  Revolution  ;  every- 
thing is  immoral  and  criminal  which  hinders  it.  Between 
*  Not  so  fast. 


364  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

him  and  society  the  war  is  to  the  knife,  incessant,  irrec- 
oncilable. He  must  prepare  himself  to  die,  to  support 
torture,  and  to  slay  with  his  own  hands  all  who  place  ob- 
stacles in  the  path  of  the  Revolution ! ' 

She  grasped  the  back  of  the  chair  for  support  with  one 
hand,  and  with  the  other  held  her  handkerchief  to  her 
mouth  a  moment,  then  let  it  fall  to  the  floor.  Stanislas 
again  approached  her,  but  she  motioned  him  away.  "  I 
did  not  think,"  she  said,  "  that  it  would  ever  be  my  fate 
to  become  one  of  your  executioners.  You!  Stanislas! 
false !  you,  my  only  love !  The  man  whom  I  adored, 
loved,  cherished,  as  if  he  were  a  demi-god !  "  She  said 
something  more,  but  so  faintly  that  the  Colonel  could  not 
tell  whether  it  were  uttered  in  English,  French,  or  Rus- 
sian ;  then  she  swaj'ed  around  and  sank  down,  breathing 
heavily. 

"Vera!  little  one,  my  love,  forgive  me!"  cried  the 
musician,  springing  forward  to  raise  her  from  the  floor. 

Just  as  he  was  about  to  touch  her  he  recoiled,  with  an 
ashy  pallor  on  his  cheeks.  There  was  a  loud  noise,  as  of 
the  fall  of  a  heavy  body  in  the  next  room,  and  then  the 
sound  of  lightly  flying  footsteps.  The  outer  door  was 
opened  and  closed,  and  all  was  still  again. 

"  See  —  what  it  is  —  what  it  was,"  muttered  Stanislas, 
pointing  with  trembling  hand  to  the  door  of  the  dining- 
room,  and  Colonel  Cliff  obeyed  his  injunction. 

"  A  screen  has  fallen  over,"  he  said,  peeping  into  the 
room.  "  And  I  thought  I  heard  some  one  retreating.  Do 
you  fancy " 

The  musician  had  placed  Vera  upon  the  sofa,  and  stood 
looking  down  at  her.  He  had  recovered  his  self-control 
now,  and  Colonel  Cliff  could  not  help  thinking  that  there 
was  a  grim  smile  of  triumph  on  his  face  as  he  contem- 
plated the  suffering  woman. 

"  This  is  not  a  very  severe  convulsion,"  he  said.    "  She 


VERA  IN   THE   TOILS.  365 

will  come  out  of  it  without  help.  Let  me  see  if  I  can  find 
her  another  handkerchief."  He  placed  his  hand  lightly 
in  the  pocket  of  the  girl's  skirt,  and  drew  forth  half  a 
dozen  small,  daintily  perfumed  squares  of  linen.  "  Poor 
thing!  "  he  said.  "I  have  sometimes  seen  her  saturate 
as  many  as  there  are  here  with  the  blood  from  her  lungs. 
There  is  a  fan  on  the  piano.  Would  you  mind  handing  it 
to  me?  Thanks.  Now  —  that  right  hand  is  clenched  too 
tightly.  Oh,  that  will  never  do  !  We  must  rub  it  a  little. 
So  !  While  the  good  Colonel  swings  the  fan.  Aha  !  at 
last  she  opens  her  eyes." 

She  did  indeed  open  them,  but  as  if  upon  another 
world,  for  her  gaze  was  full  of  mystery.  She  seemed  to 
see  things  unearthly,  inexplicable,  grand.  Although 
Stanislas  knelt  close  beside  her  and  supported  her  on  one 
arm  she  did  not  appear  conscious  of  his  presence.  By- 
and-by  her  lips  ceased  to  tremble,  and  she  smiled.  Then 
she  coughed  again,  turned  to  one  side,  and  clasped  both 
hands  to  her  breast.  Stanislas  quietly  placed  a  handker- 
chief in  her  grasp. 

"  I  have  known  her  to  have  a  dozen  of  these  in  a  night, 
mon  ami,"  he  said,  almost  gaily.  His  face  was  still  pale, 
but  it  was  easy  to  see  that  the  strain  on  his  mind  was 
not  so  great  since  Vera's  illness  had  become  manifest. 
"  Sometimes  she  suffers  terribly !  But  her  patience  is 
quite " 

He  ceased  speaking,  and  slowly  removed  his  arm  from 
beneath  Vera's  shoulder.  The  girl  had  come  back  to 
earth  at  last,  and  had  fixed  upon  the  musician  such  a  look 
that  it  almost  froze  his  blood.  Colonel  Cliff,  thinking  of 
it  years  afterward,  felt  a  singular  chill.  Stanislas  cowered 
before  the  light  of  Vera's  virginal  e3-es.  There  was  some- 
thing new  in  them,  something  which  desperately  alarmed 
him.  With  feminine  delicacy  and  grace  the  girl  arranged 
herself  in  a  more  careful  reclining  posture  ;  then,  leaning 


366  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

her  head  on  one  hand,  and  plucking  at  the  folds  of  a  clean 
handkerchief  with  the  other,  she  said  to  Stanislas  — 

"  That  is  the  last  time  that  you  must  ever  touch  me. 
There  is  a  gulf  between  us  hereafter.  Oh  !  go  —  go  away 
to  some  place  to  hide  before  it  is  too  late." 

She  loves  him,  thought  the  Colonel,  looking  down 
sadly  at  the  strange  pair,  and  feeling  pity  for  both  in  his 
great  and  good  heart.  She  loves  him,  but  she  will  never 
forgive  him  for  betraying  their  cause !  And,  as  if  she 
were  echoing  his  very  thought,  Vera  continued  — 

"  I  am  punished  as  I  deserve.  I,  too,  am  to  blame,  for 
I  have  wandered  from  my  ideal.  But  I  am  afraid  that 
this  is  too  much  for  your  nerves,  Monsieur,"  she  said, 
glancing  up  at  the  Colonel.  "  Will  you  allow  me  to  say 
that  it  would  be  useless  to  wait  —  for  your  answer — now." 

"  Do  I  understand  you  to  refuse  me  the  information 
that  I  asked  for  concerning  the  present  whereabouts  of 
Pleasant  Merrinott,  Mademoiselle?  " 

"I  must  refuse  it.  If  it  was  my  duty  before  I  hud 
learned  of  this  treachery,  it  is  more  than  ever  neces.sm  y 
that  I  should  do  so  now." 

"But  of  what  avail  can  it  be  when  your  plans  are  all 
discovered,  checked,  prevented?" 

"  Prevented?  "  cried  the  girl,  sitting  up  and  gazing  at 
the  Colonel  in  genuine  surprise.  "  You  forget,  Monsieur, 
that  an  organization  strong  enough  and  daring  enough  to 
attack  what  you  call  civilized  society  everywhere  is  not 
likely  to  have  its  plans  prevented  by  accidental  disclosures 
in  one  particular  section."  She  spoke  her  English 
trippingly  now,  taking  a  certain  pride  in  choosing  her 
words  and  in  avoiding  any  eccentricities  of  accent. 
Despite  her  illness  she  was  cool,  calm,  clear-headed. 
"  And  can  you  not  see  that  it  would  be  rather  inconsistent 
in  me  to  betray  one  of  our  secrets  just  at  the  moment 
when  I  have  rooted  a  betrayer  out  of  my  heart,  and  cast 


VERA   IN   THE  TOILS.  367 

him  away  from  me  for  ever?  Do  you  wish  me  to  sell  my 
life  as  cheaply  as  —  as  he  has  sold  his  ?  ' ' 

"  No,  Mademoiselle,  I  wish  you  to  do  nothing  that  you 
would  consider  dishonourable.  I  have  done  my  duty,  and 
I  will  now  leave  you.  I  am  glad  that  you  personally  are 
shielded  from  the  punishments  and  humiliations  that  your 
fellow-conspirators  are  to  undergo,  and  if  I  might  offer 
you  some  advice,  it  would  be  to  renounce  your  allegiance 
to  Bakounin,  and  to  devote  }-our  attention  to  recovering 
your  health.  The  world,"  added  the  Colonel,  putting  on 
his  English  air,  "  is  altogether  too  green  to  burn.  The 
all-consuming  fires  that  you  would  like  to  scatter  broad- 
cast through  the  lands  to-morrow  are  probably  hidden 
away  in  the  bosom  of  nature,  but  it  will  be  centuries  yet 
before  they  will  break  through  the  crust.  You  are  five 
hundred  years  in  advance  of  the  times,  Mademoiselle. 
Why,  it  is  scarcely  an  hundred  years  since  the  Bastille 
surrendered !  You  must  be  more  patient  under  this 
mystery  of  sin  and  sorrow,  of  oppression  and  inequality, 
which  pervades  society,  just  as  you  were  patient  in  your 
physical  suffering  a  few  minutes  ago.  Believe  me,  your 
dream  of  a  great  revolution  for  the  destruction  of  society 
is  a  mistake.  Relinquish  it ;  turn  from  it,  before  it  is  too 
late.  It  grieves  me  to  see  such  a  noble  soul  as  yours 
wedded  to  an  almost  inexcusable  folly." 

Vera  listened  attentively,  coughing  now  and  then,  but 
making  efforts  to  control  the  aggressive  hemorrhages. 
When  he  had  finished  and  had  turned  away,  a  little 
stirred  by  the  emotions  which  his  pity  for  the  unfortunate 
girl  had  aroused,  she  said  — 

"  It  is  useless  for  us  to  enter  upon  a  discussion.  From 
your  standpoint  you  are  right ;  seen  and  judged  from 
mine,  my  conduct  is  absolutely  correct  —  or  will,  at  least, 
henceforth  be  so.  For  I  am  as  one  moving  in  the  world, 
yet  not  of  it ;  no  part  of  my  kingdom  is  here  ;  I  am  but 


368  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

the  instrument  chosen  to  further  the  destruction.  I  am 
sealed  with  a  vow.  I  am  consecrated  to  a  purpose,  and 
for  me  its  realization  is  as  certain  as  it  is  that  the  sun  will 
rise  to-morrow.  When  I  fall,  another  will  take  my  place, 
as  another  has  taken  his  place  already." 

She  pointed  to  Stanislas,  who  had  sat  down  on  the 
carpet,  with  one  elbow  leaning  on  the  broad  cushioned 
seat  of  the  arm-chair,  and  was  listening  with  a  look  of 
growing  fear  in  his  eyes.  She  seemed  to  reflect  a  moment ; 
then  she  looked  up  suddenly  to  the  Colonel  and  made  a 
pleading  gesture.  "  Oh,  Monsieur !  "  she  said,  "  you  can 
readily  see  that  I  am  faint  and  ill,  and  I  am  certain  that 
you  will  not  refuse  to  do  me  a  service." 

"  I  will  do  anything  that  I  can  properly  do  for  you, 
Mademoiselle." 

"  Then  take  him  away  with  you ;  convince  him  that 
he  is  in  danger ;  urge  him  to  conceal  himself." 

"  No  more  of  this  !  "  said  the  musician,  flushing.  u  I 
will  leave  you,  Vera,  until  you  have  become  convinced 
that  my  course  was  correct ;  but  I  will  not  run  before  the 
fanatics  of  any  secret  society  !  I  defy  them  !  They  are 
surrounded  by  a  network  through  which  they  cannot 
creep.  Listen  to  me,  Yera,  and  let  me  convince  you  once 
for  all.  Six  months  after  you  had  converted  me  to  the 
doctrines  of  Bakounin,  in  Moscow,  and  after  it  had  been 
agreed  that,  the  better  to  shield  you  in  your  undertakings 
while  you  were  in  Switzerland  and  other  countries,  you 
should,  if  occasion  required,  claim  to  be  my  sister  —  six 
months  after  that  time  I  was  in  Warsaw.  One  evening, 
just  as  I  was  leaving  for  the  reception  which  had  been 
organized  in  my  honour  at  the  house  of  a  lady  of  high 
rank,  a  gentleman  called  upon  me.  I  said  that  I  could 
not  be  seen  —  was  engaged,  but  he  forced  his  way  in,  and 
told  me  who  he  was.  He  knew  everything  about  my 
relations  to  the  conspiracy,  my  romantic,  intellectual 


VERA  IN  THE  TOILS.  369 

alliance  with  you  —  everything!  The  man  was  a  demon. 
He  gave  me  my  choice  —  to  be  handed  over  to  the  tender 
mercies  of  the  Third  Section,  of  which  he  was  one  of  the 
most  cunning  agents  ;  to  be  packed  into  jail  like  a  thief 
who  had  been  pilfering  black  bread  ;  or  —  or " 

"Well,"  said  Vera,  coughing,  and  moving  one  hand 
impatiently,  "or? " 

"Or  to  become  his  ally;  to  follow  the  movements  of 
the  conspirators  with  whom  I  had  allowed  myself  to  be 
associated.  Well,  I  had  debts  —  enormous  ones  —  about 
which  no  one  knew,  it  is  true,  except  the  usurers  to  whom 
I  was  bound  bod}7  and  soul ;  I  was  in  desperate  straits, 
and  now  here  came  this  thunderbolt  from  the  hands  of 
the  Government.  What  could  I  do?  I  made  a  sudden 
resolve.  I  told  the  police  agent  that  if  he  would  agree 
to  shield  you  from  punishment,  in  any  case,  I  would 
accept  —  accept  the  bargain  which  he  offered  me.  The 
agreement  was  made,  and  since  that  time,  Vera,  I  have 
been  protecting  you  against  yourself.  What  else  could 
I  do?  Conspiracy  in  Russia  is  hopeless  ;  and  I  had,  in  a 
moment  of  passionate  excitement,  been  drawn  into  com- 
plications with  conspiracy  which  would  have  proved  fatal 
had  I  not  taken  the  one  road  out  of  the  difficulty." 

"And  so,  since  that  time,  you  have  kept  the  Russian 
Government  informed  of  my  movements?  " 

"  But  I  have  saved  you !  You  are  free  as  air,  to  go 
where  you  will.  Oh !  I  was  adroit ;  I  convinced  them 
that  you  had  been  drawn,  like  myself,  in  a  momentary 
impulse,  into  the  conspiracy.  And  I  suppose  — 

' '  That  they  knew  how  much  they  had  to  gain  by 
watching  me  at  work,"  interrupted  the  girl.  Her  face 
grew  dark.  "  Stanislas,"  she  said,  "there  was  a  sacred 
bond  between  us.  You  have  broken  it.  Hereafter  you 
are  as  one  dead  to  me.  I  loved  you ;  I  respected  you  ; 
I  gloried  in  your  genius  ;  I  believed  in  your  sincerity.  My 


370  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

love  blinded  me  to  your  horrible  duplicity.  I  am  punished. 
I  shall  go  away  from  this  place  to-night.  I  must  never 
see  your  face  again.  Your  death  is  at  hand.  Leave 
me!" 

She  sank  back  exhausted,  with  one  palm  pressed 
against  her  bosom,  as  if  she  had  just  received  a  fatal 
wound  there. 

Colonel  Cliff  felt  like  taking  the  musician  by  the  collar 
and  dragging  him  out  of  Vera's  presence,  but  he  restrained 
his  inclination.  Vera  was  soon  in  another  convulsion ; 
her  eyes  were  closed  ;  her  teeth  were  set ;  her  hands  were 
tightly  clenched ;  her  breathing  was  heavy.  Suddenly  it 
seemed  to  stop  altogether. 

"  She  must  be  raised  up  —  quickly,"  said  the  musician, 
in  a  hollow  voice  ;  but  he  did  not  rise  and  offer  to  aid  her. 
He  seemed  half  stunned  by  what  she  had  said  to  him. 

Colonel  Cliff  stooped  and  gently  lifted  the  girl.  "Is 
there  no  remedy  which  she  is  accustomed  to  use  for  these 
convulsions?"  he  said. 

But  Stanislas  did  not   answer.     He   appeared  to  be 

dreaming. 

***»*« 

Caro  stood  in  the  ante-chamber,  trembling  in  every 
limb.  She  had  started  to  fly  from  the  place  where  she 
had  already  heard  too  much  when  the  Russian  girl  had 
first  confessed  her  love  for  Stanislas.  The  fall  of  the 
screen  had  been  caused  by  her  nervous  movements,  and 
she  had  fled  terrified  to  the  outer  door  and  opened  it. 
But  she  did  not  go  out ;  she  instantly  closed  it  again,  and 
leaning  against  it,  listened  to  the  remainder  of  the  strange 
conversation.  It  seemed  to  her  now  that  she  had  a  right 
to  hear ;  that  it  was  her  duty  to  learn  all*  But  when 
Vera  had  said  the  words,  "There  was  a  sacred  bond 
between  us,"  the  blood  rose  to  Caro's  brow.  She  felt 
angry,  humiliated,  outraged.  She  turned  away  with 


VEEA   IN  THE  TOILS.  371 

despairing  gesture,  softly  reopened  the  door,  and  was  soon 
downstairs  and  in  the  street. 

For  a  minute  or  two  she  stood  hesitating ;  she  was 
almost  inclined  to  go  back  and  demand  an  explanation ; 
but  she  recovered  speedily,  walked  briskly  to  a  carriage 
stand,  secured  a  cab,  and  was  half-way  home  before  she 
realized  the  full  measure  of  her  grief.  When  she  reached 
the  house  she  was  glad  to  find  that  her  mother  had  not 
returned  from  the  dressmaker's.  She  went  up  on  to  the 
roof  balcony,  and  there,  when  she  felt  sure  that  she  was 
quite  alone,  and  that  no  one  could  Lear  her,  she  gave  way 
to  an  agony  of  weeping. 


CHAPTER  XXXm. 

D£BCT. 

WHEN  the  blue  mists  return  to  Paris,  late  in  October,  and 
the  days  are  damp  and  chilly,  the  Parisians  are  suddenly 
seized  with  an  irresistible  longing  for  the  concerts  and  the 
theatre,  from  which  they  have  absented  themselves  for 
months.  This  is  the  period  which  elderly  ladies  who  have 
once  been  renowned  in  the  world  of  song  or  of  drama 
invariably  choose  for  their  own  ' '  reappearances  "  or  for  the 
debuts  of  their  pupils.  The  great  La  Vange,  whose  statu- 
esque beauty  and  superb  contralto  voice  had  once  been 
the  joy  of  Europe,  had  long  been  living  in  comparative 
seclusion  at  Asuieres,  where  she  was  the  lucky  owner  of 
two  or  three  villas,  each  of  which  she  inhabited  in  turn  for 
a  month  or  two  at  a  time,  when  it  occurred  to  her  that  she 
would  like  to  own  a  house  at  Passy. 

She  consulted  her  banker,  and  found  that  the  funds  at 
her  immediate  disposition  were  not  quite  sufficient  to 
allow  of  the  purchase  of  the  property  which  she  had 
selected.  "Better  wait  a  year,"  suggested  the  banker. 
"  No,"  said  La  Vange  ;  "  in  a  year  I  may  be  in  Pere  La 
Chaise  ;  I  am  tired  of  seclusion,  and  I  wish  to  give  some 
receptions  in  the  Passy  house  this  winter.  Ah  !  I  have 
it !  I  must  make  a  reappearance —  I  must  have  a  benefit 
concert ;  and  we  will  put  the  prices  so  high  that  there 


THE  DEBUT.  373 

will  be  no  doubt  about  making  up  the  sum."  "Oh,  if 
Madame  proposes  to  give  a  concert,  I  shall  be  only  too 
happy  to  advance  the  extra  money  needed  for  the  pur- 
chase," said  the  banker. 

And  so  it  happened  that  La  Vange  got  the  coveted 
house,  and  that  her  great  name  adorned  the  yellow 
posters  on  the  bill-boards  in  front  of  the  Theatre-Italien, 
and  that  Caro  Merlin  was  thus  afforded  an  opportunity  to 
exhibit  the  qualities  of  her  voice  before  a  fashionable 
Parisian  audience. 

••  Every  one  of  the  critics  will  be  present,"  M^lari  had 
said  to  the  girl,  "  for  the  reappearance  of  La  Vange  is  as 
interesting  to  them  as  a  comet  is  to  the  astronomers.  You 
could  not  get  another  such  a  hearing  if  you  were  to  try 
for  it  for  years.  So  courage !  and  we  shall  soon  have 
you  launched  forth  upon  the  sea  of  fortune  !  by  which,  if 
you  please,  chere  mademoiselle,  I  mean  that  we  shall 
see  you  engaged  for  a  first  appearance  during  the  next 
spring  season  in  London.  Courage  !  " 

If  M61ari  could  have  seen  his  favourite  pupil  on  the 
morning  of  the  day  of  her  debut  in  Paris,  he  would  have 
thought  that  she  was  in  bitter  need  of  all  the  encourage- 
ment which  he  could  offer.  The  girl  arose  at  dawn,  white- 
faced,  with  dark  lines  beneath  her  eyes,  from  the  couch 
on  which  she  had  tossed  sleeplessly  all  night,  and  a  shiver 
of  disgust  passed  over  her  pretty  shoulders  as  she  put  on 
her  garments  and  took  up  the  burden  of  life  again  —  bur- 
den which  had  become  almost  intolerably  heavy.  Shie  had 
managed  to  escape  from  a  meeting  with  her  mother  the 
previous  night ;  she  had  felt  that  she  could  not  endure  it ; 
that  she  must  suffer  alone  ;  and  so  she  had  locked  herself 
into  her  bedroom,  protesting  absolute  necessity  for  seclu- 
sion, that  she  might  be  fresh  for  the  important  duties  of 
the  morrow. 

Mrs.  Merlin  had  come  home  toward  midnight,  worn  out 


374  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

with  the  fatigue  of  waiting,  and  with  anger  at  the  officious- 
ness  and  insolence  of  French  dressmakers. 

"  I  come  mighty  nigh  boxin'  the  ears  of  one  o'  them 
pert  sauceboxes  down  there,"  she  said  to  Caro  through 
the  keyhole,  at  the  same  time  announcing  that  she  had 
brought  home  the  dress.  "It's  -perfectly  lovely,"  addi-d 
the  old  lady  ;  "  we'll  try  it  on  first  thing  in  the  morning." 

And  while  the  good  soul  sank  quickly  away  into  well- 
earned  repose,  her  daughter  lay  hating  the  world,  mourn- 
ing over  her  love,  and  wishing  she  were  dead.  Caro 
bestowed  no  thought  upon  the  responsibilities  of  the 
approaching  concert  during  the  night ;  she  was  passing 
in  review  all  that  she  had  heard  said  by  Stanislas  and 
Vera,  and  every  word  that  the  Russian  girl  had  uttorrd 
seemed  to  burn  into  her  soul.  Caro  felt  humiliated 
because  she  had  not  been  able  to  form  a  more  accurate 
judgment  of  the  character  of  Stanislas ;  although  she 
loved  him  as  deeply  as  before,  she  seemed  in  some 
strange  way  contaminated  and  dishonoured  by  his  pro- 
fessed affection  for  her.  Her  mind  was  filled  with  intense 
jealousy  of  Vera ;  she  had  understood  the  sombre  and 
exalted  words  of  the  mystical  enthusiast  to  mean  much 
more  than  their  real  significance  ;  and  with  the  withdrawal 
of  henrespect  from  Stanislas,  Caro  had  expected  to  see 
her  love  for  him  fade  out.  But  no !  it  remained,  and 
imperiously  asserted  its  (intention  to  remain  in  her  heart. 
It 'had  been  a  source  of  inspiration,  but  now  it  seemed  to 
add  to  the  heaviness  of  her  burthen. 

And  what  had  the  wretched  musician  done?  He  had 
betrayed  his  fellow  conspirators,  and  thus  jeopardized  his 
life.  Perhaps  at  that  very  moment,  while  she  was  rising 
and  facing  the  day  which  was  to  decide  the  fate  of  her 
career,  he  was  lying,  white  and  still,  at  some  street 
corner,  struck  down  by  the  hand  of  the  avenger.  The 
thought  filled  the  girl  with  horror ;  her  unsteady  nerves 


THE  DEBUT.  375 

thrilled  with  pain  as  her  heated  imagination  pictured  for 
her  an  hundred  terrible  dangers  into  which  the  musician's 
imprudent  and,  perhaps,  dishonourable  conduct  had  led 
him. 

What  if  he  should  come  to  her  for  asylum  ;  should  ask 
her  for  protection  against  the  Vera  who  had  confessed 
that  she  loved  him  madly,  devotedly,  and  whom  he  had 
called  "  his  little  love  !  "  Could  she  spurn  him  from  her 

—  send  him  out  to  encounter  certain  death  ?     No ;   she 
consulted  her  heart  carefully,  and  she  was  sure  that  she 
could  not  do  that.     And  she  would  see  him  that  ven-  day  ! 
He  would  not  desert  her  on  this  all-important  occasion, 
when  he  had  solemnly  promised  to  stand  by  her,  and  to  do 
everything  in  his  power  to  aid  her  success.     She  was  con- 
fident that  he  would  come,  and  she  would  shield  him  until 
the  storm  of  resentment  for  his  treachery  to  his  comrades 
had  passed  by  !     She  could  never  respect  him  more  ;  that 
was  unutterably  sad,  yet  true  as  sad  ;  but  she  could,  she 
must  love  him ! 

She  awoke  from  her  reverie,  and  found  herself  stand- 
ing before  her  dressing-table,  clasping  her  hands  together. 
She  was  a  little  astonished  to  find  that  there  were  tears  in 
her  eyes.  She  swept  them  away  angrily,  and  the  least 
bit  of  colour  struggled  into  her  pallid  cheeks  as  she  re- 
membered that  she  had  to  sing  before  a  refined  and  hyper- 
critical audience  in  a  few  hours.  Her  ambition,  which 
had  been  rudely  jostled  aside  by  the  disclosures  of  the 
night  just  passed,  came  back  to  its  old  place.  She  mar- 
shalled her  determination. 

"  I  must  not  let  this  blow  crush  me  !  "  she  whispered. 
"I  will  succeed  to-night !  I  will!  Let  death,  let  loss  of 
love,  let  endless  sorrow  and  bereavement  come  afterward 

—  to-day,  to-night  I  will  concentrate  my  whole  energy 
upon  my  art !  "     She  lightly  brushed  her  hair  back  from 
her   heated   forehead,    softly   opened    her  door,    passed 


376  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

through  the  room  in  which  her  mother  was  peacefully 
sleeping,  and  went  down  into  the  garden. 

The  sparrows  were  twittering  their  morning  prayer  for 
alms  ;  those  dun-coated  friars  of  the  bird  world  had  hard 
picking  now  that  fog  and  mist  had  come,  but  they  recog- 
nized a  friend  in  Caro,  and  one  of  them  flew  almost  into 
her  face  to  attract  her  attention,  then  retired  to  a  chimney- 
pot to  scold  at  her  when  he  found  that  she  did  not  listen 
to  him.  The  sun  came  out  gloriously  after  a  little,  and 
Caro  accepted  this  as  a  good  omen.  A  leaf  came  floating 
down  and  lodged  upon  her  breast ;  she  caught  it  up  and 
kissed  it  passionately,  for  it  reminded  her  of  the  day  when 
she  stood  with  Stanislas  at  the  door  and  listened  with 
delight  to  his  tender  words  of  love.  Stanislas !  Stanislas 
everywhere  !  His  image  was  constantly  in  her  vision,  and 
she  felt  that  if  she  were  required  to  cast  him  out  of  her 
life,  to  forget  him,  to  banish  him,  the  effort  might  kill  her. 

"  Mercy  !  daughter !  how  white  your  face  is  !  "  was  Mrs. 
Merlin's  cry  when  Caro  went  in,  after  wandering  for  an 
hour  bareheaded  under  the  melancholy  boughs  of  the  trees 
which  were  losing  their  last  leaves.  "  You  haven't  slept  a 
wink,  I  know  !  Xow,  Caro,  don't  break  down  to-day  of  all 
days  in  the  world  !  Think  how  we  have  struggled,  and  — 
and  —  how  it  would  tickle  about  twenty  young  women  who 
have  failed,  if  you  should  join  their  ranks  !  My  senses ! 
if  Miss  Scolley  should  see  you  make  a  blunderer  a  failure 
to-night,  I  believe  she'd  elevate  that  little  stuck-up  nose 
of  hers  until  she'd  break  her  neck  short  off,  and  that 
mebbe  would  be  some  consolation." 

"  I  shall  not  fail,  mother,"  said  Caro,  gently.  The 
sight  of  the  worn,  prosaic,  homely  face,  beaming  with 
motherly  love  and  solicitude,  touched  her  heart.  "  Where 
is  the  wonderful  new  dress?  May  I  look  at  it?  We 
must  get  all  these  smaller  preparations  finished  early. 
Mulari  is  coming  at  nine." 


THE  DEBUT.  377 

"  And  Stanislas  with  him,  I  suppose,"  said  the  mother, 
fixing  her  gaze  sharply  on  Caro,  for  a  moment  or  two. 

"He  promised  to  come,"  answered  the  girl,  lowering 
her  eyes. 

After  she  had  seen  the  dress,  and  tried  it  on,  and 
praised  its  beauty,  she  climbed  slowly  to  her  study-room. 
Half-way  up  the  circular  stairway  she  reeled,  and  would 
have  fallen,  had  she  not  convulsively  clutched  the  railing. 
She  sat  down  in  her  old  leathern  arm-chair  near  the  piano 
when  she  reached  the  study ;  but  she  did  not  sing  a  note, 
nor  even  look  at  the  music-books. 

****** 

The  Theatre-Italien  is  gone  now,  and  in  its  stead  is  a 
banking  establishment  of  which  fashionable  Paris  does  not 
even  know  the  name,  for  societj*  has  not  visited  the  Place 
Veutadour  since  the  Muses  were  expelled  from  it.  The 
shabby  building  in  which  the  Parisian  beau  monde  and 
wealthy  strangers  from  all  corners  of  the  world  had  been 
content  to  take  their  Italian  Opera  for  two  full  genera- 
tions was  still  considered  sacred,  however,  at  the  tune  of 
Caro's  debut;  and  La  Vange,  whose  most  brilliant  suc- 
cesses had  been  achieved  there,  would  not  have  consented 
to  reappear  anywhere  else. 

Audiences  at  the  Italiens,  as  the  theatre  was  familiarly 
called,  differed  from  those  assembled  elsewhere  in  the 
French  capital :  there  was  about  them  an  indefinable 
air  of  distinction,  of  refinement ;  people  came  and  went 
with  dignity  and  a  certain  amount  of  solemnity,  as  they 
go  and  come  in  church.  To  be  seen  at  the  Italiens  at 
least  once  a  week  in  the  season  was  indispensable ;  and 
the  legions  of  pretty  young  girls  whose  mammas  would 
have  perished  rather  than  have  permitted  their  daughters 
to  see  the  "Chandelier"  at  the  Come'die  Fra^aise,  or, 
indeed,  to  visit  a  veritable  theatre  at  all,  were  willing 
enough  that  they  should  bare  their  lean,  yet  snowy 


378  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

shoulders  now  and  then,  and  listen  to  the  questionable, 
although  enchanting  philosophy  filtered  through  the  be- 
witching music  of  "La  Traviata, "  or  to  the  ineffable 
sadness  of  Donizetti's  dreamy  and  romantic  "  Lucia." 

The  mammas,  as  they  rustled  in  their  loges,  and  heard 
the  familiar  airs  for  the  hundredth  time,  now  and  then 
fancied  that  they  saw  a  ghostly  procession  of  vanished 
glories  flitting  across  the  stage,  headed  by  Lablache  and 
Rubini,  and  with  those  splendid  singers,  Mario,  Tamburini, 
the  divine  Malibran,  Persiani,  Sontag,  and  Grisi,  in  their 
train.  "Helas!  mesenfants!"  the  mammas  would  say 
to  the  daughters  who  were  in  ecstasies  over  some  newly 
arisen  Spanish  or  Italian  star;  "  you  can  never  see  the 
great  Mario  as  Almaviva  in  the  '  Barber ! '  Life  no  longer 
seems  worth  living  !  And  those  delightful  days  when  La 
Vange  came  to  startle  us  into  enthusiasm  once  more,  after 
the  demi-gods  had  long  departed !  What  can  compensate 
for  them  ?  ' ' 

They  had  all  carefully  cherished  La  Vange  in  their 
memories,  and  the  result  was  that  the  renowned  singer 
attracted  a  brilliant  audience  to  the  Italiens  for  her 
benefit  concert.  The  house  was  filled  punctually  at 
eight,  but  the  audience  was  so  ecstatically  engaged  in 
self-admiration  that  the  stage-manager  did  not  venture 
to  ring  up  the  curtain  until  nine.  La  Vange's  old 
admirers,  the  beaux  of  the  last  generation,  came  in 
scores,  and  paid  fabulous  prices  for  comfortless  chairs 
placed  in  the  central  aisle,  which  the  Italiens,  unlike 
most  Parisian  theatres,  happened  to  possess.  There  were 
diplomats  and  generals  by  dozens  ;  celebrated  authors  with 
vast  beards  and  bald  heads  ;  and  English  dowagers  with  in- 
describable toilettes.  Beautiful  ladies,  a  bit  passtes,  from 
New  Orleans,  and  Pernambuco,  and  Santiago,  and  Rio  de 
Janeiro,  and  Barcelona,  and  Havana,  came  to  salute  the 
singer  who  had  once  charmed  them  in  their  far-off  homes  ; 


THE  DEBUT.  379 

Russia  had  sent  a  delegation  of  its  prettiest  blondes, 
accompanied  by  their  husbands  and  fathers,  each  of  whom 
had  probably  offered  his  heart  and  hand,  in  his  time,  to 
La  Vange  ;  and  there  was  a  flaring  German  scion  of  royalty 
in  the  very  centre  of  the  first  row  of  loges.  Along  the 
sides  of  the  section  devoted  to  the  orchestra  stalls  were 
ranged  the  critics,  young  and  old,  a  compact  and  formid- 
able army  of  scribes,  ready  to  waken  Paris  to  laughter  if 
La  Vange  should  prove  exhausted  and  should  niake  a 
couac  with  her  once  peerless  voice ;  ready  to  pillory  the 
amateurs  who  dare,  on  such  occasions  as  "benefit  con- 
certs," to  thrust  themselves  into  comparison  with  profes- 
sionals ;  and  read}',  also,  to  transfix  little  Caro's  dawning 
artistic  reputation  upon  the  points  of  their  diamond-tipped 
gold  pens,  should  she  falter  or  show  by  any  smallest  sign 
that  she  had  mistaken  her  vocation.  They  had  all  heard  of 
Caro  ;  some  of  them  had  seen  her,  and  had  been  touched 
by  her  beauty ;  and  Mclari  had  been  among  them  since 
the  doors  of  the  theatre  were  opened,  prophesying  success 
for  his  favourite  pupil. 

But  where  was  Stanislas  —  the  great  Stanislas  —  who 
had  promised  to  be  present?  This  question  was  asked 
by  each  of  the  critics,  who,  with  the  malevolent  acuteness 
which  distinguishes  the  members  of  their  profession,  had 
guessed  that  the  musician  was  strongly  interested  in 
Caro ;  and  Melari  was  obliged  to  bite  his  lips  with 
vexation,  and  to  answer  that  he  had  no  information  as 
to  the  comings  and  goings  of  the  pianist.  For  Stanislas 
had  not  been  seen  at  Mrs.  Merlin's  all  that  day  ;  Stanis- 
las was  not  visible  in  any  of  his  accustomed  haunts  ;  and 
at  his  lodgings  the  concierge  had  discouraged  the  inquiries 
of  the  messenger  whom  Mrs.  Merlin,  impelled  by  Caro's 
distress,  had  sent  to  find  him,  with  the  statement  that  he 
knew  nothing  whatever  about  the  musician's  movements. 
One  or  two  of  the  critics  were  wagging  thei.r  heads,  and 


380  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

looking  wise,  as  they  vaguely  remembered  some  rumour 
that  they  had  heard  about  the  relation  of  Stanislas  to  a 
certain  recent  conspiracy,  when  Melari  and  those  near  him 
were  much  surprised  by  the  arrival  of  the  man  in  question. 
He  pushed  his  way  past  complaining  and  grumbling  ladies 
and  gouty  old  gentlemen;  saluted  right  and  left,  as  was  his 
wont,  and  dropped  into  his  reserved  seat  with  the  air  of 
a  man  thoroughly  at  peace  with  himself  and  with  the 
world,  although  he  was  very  pale. 

Caro  was  standing  on  the  stage,  beside  La  Vange,  to 
whom  she  had  just  been  presented,  and  the  two  were 
peeping  through  a  round  "  eye-hole  "  in  the  curtain,  con- 
templating the  audience,  when  Stanislas  came  in.  The 
3'oung  girl  started  so  that  La  Vangc  looked  at  her  with 
amazement,  and  Caro  felt  the  need  of  stammering  an 
excuse.  There  was  the  beloved  face  !  There  was  Stanislas 
alive  and  well,  and  apparently  in  no  dread  whatever  of 
avenging  conspirators.  She  would  sing  for  him.  and  she 
would  succeed.  She  forgot  his  cruel  neglect,  and  thought 
only  of  his  presence.  Just  as  she  had  spied  Alice  and  Mrs. 
Harrelston  in  their  box  near  the  stage,  there  was  a  cry  to 
"  clear  the  boards,"  and  she  had  but  tune  to  retreat  into 
the  wings  before  the  curtain  went  up,  and  two  sprightly 
actors  were  playing  a  one- act  comedy.  She  stood  in  the 
shadow  watching  the  scene  so  novel  to  her  with  interest ; 
but  the  cold  air,  the  smell  of  gas.  the  jostling  to  which 
she  was  subjected  as  the  stage-manager  and  his  aids 
rushed  recklessly  about,  wearied  her.  She  retired  to  a 
dressing-room,  and  sat  down  beside  her  anxious  mother. 

Half  an  hour  passed  slowly  enough  for  Caro.  At 
last  thunders  of  applause  announced  that  the  idol  of  the 
evening,  the  great  La  Vange,  had  appeared.  There  was 
an  encore,  then  there  were  six  recalls,  and  then,  as  the 
audience  had  begun  to  buzz  and  chatter  very  audibly, 
every  one  wishing  to  exchange  reminiscences  of  the  re- 


THE  DEBUT.  381 

nowned  woman  with  every  one  else,  a  grimy-faced  boy 
appeared  in  front  of  Caro's  retreat,  and  said,  "  Number 
four  ;  Mademoiselle  Merlin,  if  you  please  !  " 

"  Now,  Caro,"  said  her  mother ;  and  Caro  arose,  threw 
aside  her  shawl,  took  her  music,  and  stepped  briskly 
forward. 

There  was  a  little  flight  of  stairs  to  go  up ;  a  dark- 
haired  gentleman  gave  her  his  hand,  with  an  exceedingly 
deferential  ' '  Pardon  ! ' '  and  then  bowed  his  way  before 
her  to  the  stage,  where  he  sat  down  at  the  piano.  Caro 
was  to  sing  the  "Jewel  Song"  from  Faust.  The  first 
notes  were  heard ;  the  talkers  began  to  cease  their  con- 
versation and  to  stare  coldly  and  rather  impertinently  at 
the  beautiful  girl  who  stood,  calm  and  dignified,  before 
them,  about  to  solicit  their  approval.  The  ladies  consulted 
their  programmes,  and  seeing  the  name  Miss  Caro  Merlin — 
for  Caro  had  decided  to  assume  no  false  colours  —  they 
smiled  at  each  other,  and  whispered,  "  Une  Anglaise.  Now 
we  shall  be  amused !  "  The  old  men  shifted  their  opera 
hats  from  hand  to  hand  and  showed  their  teeth ;  M61ari 
put  on  a  sympathetic  smile  ;  the  critics  grinned  derisively  ; 
and  Caro  felt  that,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  personal 
friends  scattered  hither  and  3*on  throughout  the  theatre, 
she  had  in  front  of  her  fifteen  hundred  people  who  would 
willingly  applaud  her  if  she  succeeded,  but  who  felt  con- 
vinced that  she  would  not  achieve  success. 

Nevertheless,  she  began  to  sing,  and  as  she  sang  she 
looked  at  Stanislas,  in  the  vague  hope  that  some  inspiration 
born  of  his  love  would  bear  her  through  the  trial  which 
was  every  moment  growing  more  formidable.  But  she  was 
surprised  to  see  a  portly  gentleman  with  yellow  whiskers, 
who  was  seated  directly  behind  Stanislas,  lean  over  and 
touch  the  musician's  shoulder,  and  to  see  Stanislas  start 
violently,  look  around,  and  then,  as  by  instinct,  gaze  up  at 
a  point  in  the  gallery.  The  girl  sang  bravely  on,  but  her 


382  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

eyes  followed  those  of  Stanislas  until  they  rested  on  a 
strange-looking  old  man,  with  scarred  and  wrinkled  face, 
and  with  a  long  white  beard.  This  man  was  leaning  over 
the  railing,  and  watching  the  musician  as  a  cat  watches 
the  mouse  upon  which  she  is  about  to  spring. 

To- the  astonishment  of  his  neighbours,  who  were  begin- 
ning to  give  a  little  sympathetic  attention  to  Caro,  Stanislas 
arose  hastily,  and  made  his  way  out,  brushing  against  the 
ladies,  and  elbowing  men  almost  brutally.  Murmurs  and 
cries  of  "  Sit  down  !  "  were  heard,  but  he  paid  no  attention 
to  them.  With  a  look  of  terror  on  his  face,  he  scrambled 
on  until  he  reached  the  end  of  the  row  of  scats  ;  then  dis- 
appeared through  a  door,  heedless  of  the  remonstrances 
addressed  to  him. 

Caro' s  voice  failed,  sank ;  a  mist  arose  before  her 
eyes ;  she  saw  anew  the  vision  of  Stanislas  lying  white 
and  still ;  she  clutched  her  music  desperately  —  but  the 
murmuring  audience  seemed  to  recede ;  despair  choked 
her  utterance ;  she  staggered,  and  fell.  The  pianist 
hastened  to  her  side  ;  the  curtain  was  rung  down  ;  and  the 
critics  shook  their  heads,  and  fanned  themselves  vigorously 
with  their  hats.  Melari  glared  at  the  pitiless  society 
dames  who  giggled  at  the  catastrophe,  and  bit  his  lips 
until  the  blood  came. 

A  minute  afterwards  the  door  of  the  Ilarrelstons'  box 
was  opened,  and  a  soft  voice  said  in  French,  "  Is  Mademoi- 
selle Harrelston  there?  Can  I  speak  with  her?  " 

"  Perhaps  Caro  has  sent  for  me,  mother,"  said  Alice, 
rising.  "  May  I  go  to  her?  " 

' '  ( Vrtainly ,  my  dear  —  that  is,  if  you  think And 

Alice  stepped  into  the  narrow  passage. 

The  messenger  was  a  small  girl,  dressed  in  black.  She 
put  a  note  into  Alice's  hand,  and  placed  one  finger  on  her 
own  lips,  to  indicate  silence.  Evidently  this  summons  was 
not  from  Caro.  Alice  broke  the  seal. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE    TEMPTER. 

MRS.  MERLIN  slowly  drew  off  her  gloves,  and  looked  at 
her  daughter  as  if  she  would  read  her  thoughts.  The  old 
lady's  face  was  stem.  Caro  felt  that  she  could  detect  a 
certain  anger  mingled  with  the  pity  which  she  knew  that 
the  mother  could  not  choose  but  bestow  upon  her  unlucky 
daughter. 

They  were  at  home,  in  the  great  study-room,  which 
was  a  weird  and  melancholy  place  when  dimly  lighted 
by  Caro's  little  reading  lamp.  One  might  readily  have 
imagined  it  filled  with  the  shades  of  the  dead  and  gone 
painters  who,  in  successive  generations,  had  inhabited 
it,  and  had  there  nourished  their  lofty  ambitions  or 
struggled  with  their  despairs.  Caro  thought  of  them  as 
she  sat  in  the  old  arm-chair,  while  the  pall  of  her  own  ill 
luck  settled  slowly  down  upon  her.  The  gloom  almost 
frightened  her.  She  fancied  that  she  could  hear  footsteps 
upon  the  circular  stairway ;  and  she  wished,  with  all  her 
heart,  that  she  were  comfortably  at  home  in  Illinois.  It 
seemed  very  far  away  now  —  farther  than  ever,  since  she 
began  to  feel  that  she  was  on  the  border-land  of  failure  in 
her  cherished  plans.  The  tears  filled  her  eyes.  She  gave 
her  small,  cold  right  hand  to  her  mother,  who  took  it  be- 
tween her  two  warm  palms,  and  held  it  gently  while  she 
waited  for  the  girl  to  speak. 

383 


384  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

"  I  am  sorry,  mother,  heartily  sorry  for  your  sake,"  at 
last  Caro  said ;  "but  for  my  own  sake  I  don't  care  the 
first  grain.  I  only  know  —  that  —  I  wish  —  I  were  dead. ' ' 

The  old  lady  did  not  speak.  She  continued  her  search- 
ing gaze,  and  Caro  began  to  grow  a  trifle  rebellious  under 
this  mute  interrogation,  which  had  a  decided  savour  of 
accusation  in  it. 

"  I  thought  you  were  sorry  for  me,  mother,"  she  added  ; 
"  but  I  begin  to  believe " 

""Wai,"  said  the  old  lady,  breaking  her  silence  and 
speaking  in  her  most  matter-of-fact,  her  harshest  tones, 
"  I  don't  care  nothin'  about  the  accident  to-night.  I  don't 
consider  that  it's  a  failure,  and  I  don't  think  't  any  of 
them  girls  that  was  grinnin'  up  in  the  fourth-story  boxes 
think  that  'twas  either.  M61ari  come  behind  the  curtain  to 
see  me  before  you  was  brought  to,  and  he  said  that  Miss 
Lottie  Eldridge  said  that  you  fainted  on  purpose  so's  to 
get  a  lot  of  notices  in  the  French  papers.  I  declare  I 
believe  it  would  do  me  good  to  box  that  girl's  ears.  On 
the  whole,"  continued  Mrs.  Merlin,  with  the  air  and  tone 
of  a  general  summing  up  the  result  of  an  unsuccessful 
action,  which  yet  could  not  be  called  a  defeat,  "  I  don't 
know  as  any  great  harm's  done  to  your  career.  It  is  jest 
as  Melari  says ;  it  can't  be  called  a  first  appearance,  be- 
cause you  hadn't  had  time  to  appear  when  you  went  down 
as  if  you'd  ben  shot.  But  that  isn't  what  worries  me.  If 
that  was  all,  and  if  there  was  no  secret  cause,  no  trouble," 
—  here  Mrs.  Merlin's  voice  grew  harder  and  somewhat 
lower,  and  her  manner  became  condemnatory  —  "no  se- 
cret cause,  I  say,  of  all  this,  I  could  go  to  bed  and  sleep 
as  comfortable  as  usual.  But  there's  somethin'  wrong, 
and  I  want  you  to  explain  it  to  me  before  we  move  from 
whore  we  are  now." 

She  released  her  hold  of  Caro's  hand,  and  stood  eyeing 
her  as  if  she  were  determined  to  exact  an  explanation,  no 


THE  TEMPTER.  385 

matter  how  much  it  might  wound  and  weary  the  girl  in 
her  excited  and  fatigued  condition. 

Caro's  look  was  proud,  but  her  voice  trembled  as  she 
answered,  "  We  can  have  no  confidences,  no  confessions 
to-night,  mother.  I  asked  you,  when  we  were  in  the 
cathedral  at  Berne,  never  to  distrust  me  again.  And  I 
made  up  my  mind,  then  and  there,  that  if  you  did  me  so 
little  honour  as  to  doubt  me,  the  sooner  I  stopped  telling 
you  of  my  feelings  and  —  and  my  impressions,  the  better. 
You  never  did  understand  me,  and  you  never  will.  It's 
no  time  to-night,  after  all  that  has  happened,  to  worry 
and  scold  me,  and  I  wish  you  to  comprehend  that  I  don't 
propose  to  be  lectured.  I  am  ashamed  that  I  was  so 
weak,  and  that  you  have  to  suffer  with  me  in  my  failure ; 
but  I  tell  you  that  when  you  begin  to  ascribe  my  weakness 
to  some  unworthy  thing  you  go  decidedly  too  far.  And  I 
wish  you  would  go  downstairs  and  leave  me  to  my  own 
thoughts.  I  think  they  will  furnish  me  company  enough." 
She  sprang  out  of  the  chair,  threw  aside  her  bonnet,  ner- 
vously replaced  a  loosened  hair-pin  in  her  chestnut  braids, 
and  went  away  into  a  dark  corner. 

Mrs.  Merlin  quailed.  She  adored  Caro  when  the  girl 
rebelled  against  her  wavering  and  brief  manifestations  of 
maternal  authority.  But  her  heart  was  sore,  and  she  felt 
it  her  duty  to  say  something  more. 

"Yes,  Caro,"  she  murmured,  plucking  at  her  sleeves 
and  beginning  to  cry,  "oh  yes,  —  I  recollect  how  you 
scolded  me  in  the  church  at  Berne  that  night  when  Stan- 
islas played  all  that  raving  mess  of  music  on  the  organ, 

and  when  you I  tell  you  it  would  have  ben  better 

for  you  if  you  had  never  seen  that  man,  and  if  I  had 
never  let  him  put  his  moonstruck  foreign  face  inside  our 
doors !  And  I  want  you  to  remember  that  he  mustn't 
come  around  here  any  more  !  If  you  haven't  got  common 
prudence,  I  have,  and  I  propose  to  exercise  it*  I  warned 


386  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

you  about  foreigners,  but  you  wouldn't  listen  !  There ! 
I  won't  say  another  single  word  to  you  to-night."  Then, 
changing  her  tone  to  the  gentle  one  habitual  to  her  when 
addressing  her  daughter,  she  added,  "  You'd  better  let 
me  take  your  dress  off,  dear,  and  bring  you  }rour  wrapper, 
if  you're  goin'  to  sit  around  any  longer.  It'll  be  a  pity  to 
wrinkle  it,  it's  so  pretty." 

"  Please  leave  me  alone,  mother,  to-night,"  pleaded 
Caro.  "We  shall  both  be  hi  a  better  mood  to-morrow. 
Do  go  to  bed,  and  when  dajTlight  comes  we  will  have  a 
talk,  and  decide  what  must  be  done.  See  that  the  servant 
goes  to  her  room.  I  don't  want  her  to  think  that  we  have 
been  defeated  down  there  to-night.  Come  !  forgive  me  !  " 
and,  returning  out  of  the  darkness,  she  kissed  her  mother's 
wrinkled  cheek,  and  pushed  her  gently  to  the  door. 

Mrs.  Merlin  yielded,  and  went  slowly  downstairs, 
mourning  over  the  untoward  event  of  the  evening,  and 
muttering  sombre  prophecies  for  the  future.  Caro  closed 
the  small  door  at  the  head  of  the  spiral  staircase,  and 
was  alone. 

It  was  almost  midnight.  The  girl  but  dimly  recollected 
how  she  had  found  herself  lying  on  a  dusty  sofa  in  a 
dressing-room,  with  her  hair  drenched  with  cologne  water ; 
how  she  had  hidden  her  pale  face  in  her  mother's  friendly 
bosom  when  Melari  had  come  to  console  her  and  to  coun- 
sel her  not  to  do  what  she  had  not  dreamed  of  doing  — 
attempt  to  appear  again  the  same  evening ;  and  how 
finally  she  had  been  brought  home  in  an  ill-smelling  cab, 
and  had  climbed  up  to  her  refuge  in  the  leathern  arm-chair 
with  a  kind  of  vague  belief  that  with  the  morrow  all  earthly 
things  would  end.  She  was  calmer  now  ;  but  tears  filled 
her  eyes,  and  a  burning  flush  invaded  her  brow  as  she 
thought  of  the  gossip  which  her  swoon  would  excite  among 
the  rivals  who  envied  and  hated  her,  especially  if  they  had 
observed  the  hasty  exit  of  Stanislas  from  the  theatre. 


THE   TEMPTER.  387 

Stanislas  !  Her  mother's  mention  of  his  beloved  name 
had  awakened  her  ardent  love  for  him  with  tenfold  pas- 
sion, and  it  glowed  in  her  veins.  He  had  neglected  her, 
deserted  her  at  the  very  time  when  she  had  most  needed 
his  presence  —  had  been  the  cause  of  her  humiliation  ;  but 
she  would  pardon  him  all  if  she  could  but  see  him  —  if  she 
could  but  feel  his  hand  upon  her  hands,  if  the  magic  of 
his  presence  were  once  more  vouchsafed  to  her  —  if  he 
would  hasten  to  take  the  necessary  precautions  for  his  own 
safety  !  What  could  she  do  to  save  him  ?  How  could  she 
shield  him  against  the  vindictive  enemies  whom  he  himself 
had  placed  upon  his  track,  and  of  whose  whereabouts  she 
knew  nothing  ?  On  whom  could  she  call  ?  In  whose  name 
could  she  invoke  protection  for  this  wonderful  artist,  this 
man  of  genius,  this  musical  demi-god  whose  name  was 
famous  in  two  hemispheres,  and  who  was  supposed  to  be 
above  the  reach  of  worldly  cares  or  anxieties? 

Her  helplessness  enraged  her.  She  went,  without  being 
entirely  conscious  what  she  was  doing,  to  the  piano,  and 
lighted  the  candles  in  the  brackets  on  each  side  of  the 
music-holder,  and  others  in  the  candelabras  at  the  sides 
of  the  huge  room.  These,  with  the  lamp,  made  the  dark- 
ness more  visible,  but  seemed  to  cheer  her  up  a  bit.  She 
sat  down  at  the  instrument,  allowing  her  fingers  idly  to 
wander  over  the  keys,  and  began  rehearsing,  in  a  low 
voice,  that  "Jewel  song"  of  which  she  had  made  such 
wreck  scarcely  two  hours  before.  The  music  soothed  her  ; 
her  courage  began  to  return  ;  and  with  it  came  again  the 
vision  which  she  had  so  many  times  seen  of  herself  as  a 
great  and  successful  artist,  crowned  with  the  popular 
favour,  and  worshipped  as  one  of  the  favoured  ones  of 
the  earth. 

"  I  will  have  my  dream  !  "  she  cried,  passionately,  start- 
ing up  from  the  piano.  "  I  will  succeed.  I  know  I  can 
and  I  must !  I  must  put  away  all  these  small  human  pas- 


388  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

sions  and  sympathies,  and  consecrate  myself  to  art !  But 
how,"  and  here  she  paused,  dreamy-eyed  and  absorbed  in 
her  reverie,  and  lowered  her  voice  as  she  added,  "  how 
can  I  give  up  Stanislas?  He  is  the  very  breath  of  my 
life.  Sometimes  I  think  he  is  my  inspiration  ! " 

She  stepped  hastily  backward,  uttering  a  faint  cry,  for 
she  fancied  that  she  heard  the  door  which  opened  on  to 
the  balcony-roof  close  gently,  and  then  the  sound  of  a 
light  footstep.  Her  first  impulse  was  to  seize  the  lamp 
and  go  up  to  the  door,  but  in  an  instant  she  heard  a 
second  footfall,  then  a  figure  came  into  view  on  the  stairs, 
and  moved  composedly  down  into  the  room. 

Caro  staggered  back  to  the  piano  and  clutched  at  it. 
She  appeared  now  to  have  lost  her  voice,  her  strength ; 
her  individuality  seemed  for  the  moment  to  be  merged  in 
the  being  of  him  she  loved  —  of  the  living  and  breathing 
Stanislas,  who  stood  before  her  as  if  he  had  dropped  from 
the  sky  in  obedience  to  the  earnest  prayer  in  her  mind 
that  she  might  see  him  once  more. 

He  was  very  pale,  but  otherwise  unchanged.  His  eyes 
gleamed  with  the  old  familiar  light,  and  his  attitude  was 
as  graceful  and  striking  as  usual.  Caro  began  to  fancy 
herself  the  victim  of  an  optical  illusion.  Surely  this  was 
not  the  man  whom  she  had  seen  hurriedly  quitting  his 
place  at  the  theatre,  with  the  marks  of  fear  upon  him ! 
Yet  he  lived  —  he  moved  —  he  spoke  ! 

"I  know  you  are  amazed,  ma  chdre  Caro,  to  see  me 
here,  and  coming  from  your  balcony,  at  such  an  hour," 
he  said,  "  but  I  can  explain  all.  After  what  has  occurred 
at  the  theatre,  I  feel  that  I  am  at  a  disadvantage  —  that 
I  am  in  a  false  position;  but"  —and  he  moved  quickly 
toward  the  girl  —  "  will  you  let  me  explain?  One  of  the 
critics  ran  after  me  in  the  lobby  to  tell  me  that  you  had 
fainted,  and  then  it  was  that  I  cursed  my  stupidity.  Oh, 
toll  me,  c/terie,  my  own,  my  saint,  was  it  because  you  saw 


THE  TEMPTER.  389 

my  agitation  that  you,  too,  lost  control  of  your  nerves? 
Never  mind ;  it  shall  do  you  no  harm ;  it  shall  be  made 
up  to  you  an  hundredfold  —  mille  foist*  Let  us  forget  it 
already.  You  must  know  that  I  have  been  in  an  adven- 
ture, and,  sapristi!  I  have  narrowly  escaped  a  tragedy !  " 
He  drew  a  long  breath,  and,  taking  a  delicately  perfumed 
handkerchief  from  his  pocket,  wiped  his  brow. 

Caro  sat  down,  feeling  inexpressibly  relieved  at  his  last 
declaration.  After  all,  how  could  she  blame  him  for  this 
intrusion  at  such  an  hour?  If  he  had  come  to  her,  and 
asked  her  to  shield  him,  would  she  not  instantly  have  done 
it,  no  matter  at  what  time  of  night  or  day?  Here  he  was 
— alive,  and  congratulating  himself  on  his  final  escape  from 
his  enemies.  Was  not  that  joy  enough  for  the  moment ! 
She  felt  like  sounding  a  paean  of  rejoicing  on  the  white  keys. 

"I  must  tell  you,"  he  continued,  "  that  I  have  been 
fortunate  enough  to  give  the  Russian  Government  some 
interesting  news  about  a  band  of  conspirators  —  wicked 
people — -'who  have  been  operating  against  the  peace  of  the 
Empire  from  their  haunts  in  half  a  dozen  countries.  And 
do  you  know  that  those  impudent  people  were  actually 
foolish  enough  to  wish  to  kill  me  for  betraying  their  small 
secrets  !  Bah !  They  even  sent  me  word  that  they  would 
kill  me.  Now  I  would  not  have  cared  much  about  that 
threat  had  the  police  been  so  lucky  as  to  get  all  the  con- 
spirators ;  but  one  of  them,  the  most  dangerous  and  vin- 
dictive of  all  the  delightful  party,  is  still  at  large.  You 
can  fancy  my  amazement  when,  at  the  concert  to-night,  I 
felt  my  shoulder  touched  from  behind,  and  looking  around 
I  saw  a  Polish  gentleman  who  used  to  be  in  the  diplomatic 
service,  and  whom  I  have  known  here  in  Paris  for  some 
time.  He  called  my  attention  to  a  figure  in  the  gallery, 
and  who  do  you  think  it  was?  Why,  my  uncaught  con- 
spirator—  a  scurvy  old  rascal,  well  known  in  Poland  and 
*  A  thousand  times. 


S90  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

Russia  as  guilty  of  provoking  many  conspiracies  during 
his  long  life.  I  made  up  my  mind  that  that  was  the  man 
who  had  been  delegated  to  kill  me,  and  so  I  made  all 
possible  haste  to  get  out  and  communicate  with  the  police, 
and  have  him  taken  before  he  could  leave  the  theatre." 

"  I  saw  him,  leaning  on  the  gallery  rail  and  looking  at 
you,"  cried  Caro.  "But  go  on — goon!  "Was  he  caught  ?" 

"  Hum  !  not  for  the  moment !  "  answered  the  musician. 
'•He  seemed  to  have  got  out  of  the  theatre  by  magic. 
But  the  police  agents  of  Paris  will  have  him  in  their  net 
to-night.  I  came  up  here  at  once,  after  I  heard  that  you 
had  —  given  up  singing  at  the  concert,  and  I  —  well  —  do 
you  know  when  I  found  that  I  had  arrived  first,  and  that 
your  garden  door  was  open  —  and  there  was  no  light  —  I 
walked  in,  and  climbed  to  the  balcony,  and  shut  the  door 
and  locked  it !  I  said,  '  No  conspirator  can  get  me  here 
until  I  choose  to  open  to  him,  at  least ; '  and  the  sense  of 
relief  from  feeling  that  I  was  followed  was  tremendous. 
Then  I  heard  you  come  in,  and — and  now  here  I  am! 
Does  it  not  all  sound  like  a  story  of  the  middle  ages? 
And  yet  it  is  real  nineteenth  century  —  real  and  true ! 
Oh,  Caro  !  do  not  look  at  me  with  such  great  round  eyes 
—  so  full  of  wonder.  I  know  you  have  much  to  forgive  — 
but  I  will  explain  all." 

With  a  quick  movement  he  was  beside  her.  He  placed 
one  hand  tenderly  upon  her  pale  forehead,  and  bent  her 
beautiful  head  a  little  backward.  In  another  moment 
his  lips  would  have  touched  hers.  But  Caro  arose,  and 
Stanislas  withdrew  his  hand,  looking  a  trifle  alarmed. 

"Then  explain  to  me,"  she  said,  feeling  a  wondrous 
longing  that  he  might  be  able  to  do  so,  "  how  it  is  that 
you  are  not  in  danger  when  the  conspirator  most  to  be 
dreaded  is  at  large  —  when  Vera,  who,  by  her  own  con- 
fession, is  pledged  to  take  your  life  because  you  have 
betrayed  her  and  her  accomplices,  has  not  been  arrested? 


THE  TEMPTER.  391 

Answer  me  that — if  you  can, — to  my  satisfaction?  "Will 
she  forbear  to  carry  out  her  mission  to  you  because  — 
because  there  has  been  love  between  you?" 

"  Bon  Dieu!  how  did  you  hear  all  this?"  cried  the 
musician,  falling  on  his  knees  at  her  feet  and  grasping 
both  her  hands.  "  Sit  down,  Caro,"  he  whispered ;  "  be 
calm,  and  you  shall  have  the  explanation.  Who  has  told 
you  of  Vera ' s  ravings?  " 

The  girl  sank  down  once  more  on  the  seat,  and  told 
him  how  it  was  that  she  happened  to  overhear  Vera's 
mystical  prophecies  of  his  doom.  And  while  the  musician 
covered  her  hands  with  kisses,  and  swore  that  he  had 
never  loved  Vera,  and  that  she  had  been  the  curse  of  his 
life,  and  that  he  did  not  fear  her  —  Caro  felt  a  new  and 
invincible  repugnance  to  the  young  artist's  caresses  arising 
in  her  heart.  It  seemed  now  to  her  as  if  in  them  there 
might  be  some  hint  of  dishonour.  The  agony  of  renuncia- 
tion was  perhaps  to  come  ;  she  had  tasted  of  the  bitter  cup 
of  sorrow  often  of  late  ;  the  draught  might  once  more  be 
presented  at  her  lips.  And  now  her  senses  were  return- 
ing ;  she  began  to  see  the  man  in  a  new  light — as  one  who 
had  remorselessly  sacrificed  a  woman  who  loved  him,  and 
for  whom  he  disclaimed  all  affection.  Or  did  he  love 
Vera,  and  was  she,  the  inexperienced,  unworldly  American 
girl  who  had  yielded  her  heart  into  his  keeping,  was  she 
deceived?  This  doubt  was  maddening,  and  the  thought 
that  Stanislas  was  untrue  to  any  one  —  even  to  Vera — 
degraded  him.  She  struggled  to  free  her  hands,  and  to 
end  this  visit,  which  she  felt  was  dangerous  and  profitless. 

"  This  is  no  time  and  no  place  to  talk  so  wildly,  Stan- 
islas," she  said.  "You  must  retire,  and  to-morrow  you 
can  give  me  an  explanation  of  your  conduct.  If  you 
knew  how  it  cuts  me  to  the  heart  to  doubt  you !  And 
how  I  suffer  at  the  thought  that  some  of  those  vindictive 
people  may " 


392  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

He  would  not  release  her  hands.  There  was  a  strange 
look  in  his  eyes  which  she  had  never  observed  before. 
She  shrank  away  from  it,  as  if  it  might  sear  her  brow. 

"Oh,  my  little  love,"  he  said,  "I  love  you  and  you 
only  !  With  you  I  could  brave  the  world ;  and  with  you 
I  could  hide  from  it,  too,  until  the  storm  is  over  and  there 
is  no  farther  danger  from  these  people.  I  don't  know 
what  Vera  will  do,  but  sometimes  I  am  afraid  of  her. 
Why  can  we  not  go  away  —  far  away,  where  she  could 
not  track  or  follow  us  —  you  and  I  —  together  —  always  — 
in  dreaming  and  in  waking  —  in  morning  and  at  nightfall 
—  together  —  in  some  southern  —  some  remote  land  — 
where  we  could  live  —  and  love — and  study — and  be  free  ! 
Listen  !  I  would  atone  for  all  my  neglect  —  I  would  make 
you  a  great  artist,  and  you  would  fulfil  your  ambition,  and 
make  the  nations  sit  at  your  feet.  Oh  !  why  could  we  not 
fly  awa}-  from  this  mean  place  of  care  and  trouble,  and 
live  in  a  new  world  of  our  own  —  careless  of  all  the  dull 
conventionalities — for  each  other — all  in  all.  Would  you 
go  with  me  —  if  to-morrow  I  showed  you  the  way ' ' 

"I  do  not  understand  you,  Stanislas,"  said  the  girl, 
wrenching  her  bands  free  with  such  a  violent  effort  as  to 
astonish  the  musician.  "  And  I  am  sure  that  you  do  not 
understand  me !  Are  you  mad,  to  talk  to  me  of  a  runa- 
way marriage,  when  I  doubt  you  as  I  have  never  doubted 
you  before?  And  why  hide  from  the  world?  Oh,  Stan- 
islas, there  was  a  moment  when  I  thought  that  I  should 
be  proud  to  love  you  in  the  whole  world's  sight  —  but 
now  — 

"  Marriage  !  who  talks  of  marriage  —  who  cares  for  it — 
in  our  artist  world?  "  cried  Stanislas,  who  seemed  intoxi- 
cated with  his  new  idea  of  flight  with  Caro,  and  who  hoped 
to  impel  her  to  follow  him  wherever  he  commanded. 
"Who  talks  of  laws  and  legal  forms?  Will  social  law 
help  you  in  your  career  as  a  singer  —  oh,  my  love?" 


THE  TEMPTER.  393 

The  girl  drew  back,  shudderingly,  as  from  the  brink  of 
a  great  gulf.  The  enchantment  was  over ;  the  moment  of 
renunciation  had  indeed  arrived.  The  mask  had  fallen  ; 
the  angel  was  a  demon  ;  the  demi-god  was  a  foolish  idol 
with  feet  of  clay ;  the  dream  was  done.  Into  the  new 
world  to  which  he  invited  her  she  realized  that  it  would 
be  death  to  enter. 

"Now,"  she  said,  "I  do  understand  you.  There  is 
but  one  thing  left  for  you  to  do  —  you,  the  man  whom  I 
loved,  and  raised  to  the  stars,  and  thought  as  good  as  you 
are  talented  —  and  that  is,  to  go  away  at  once,  and  never 
let  me  see  your  face1  again.  Don't  stand  there  !  you  make 
me  wish  that  I  were  a  man,  that  I  might  kill  you  !  " 

She  heard  him  speak,  protest,  and  plead,  but  she  did 
not  know  what  he  said ;  and  she  felt  as  if  a  great  load 
were  taken  from  her  heart  when  he  had  gone,  feeling  his 
way  timorously  down  the  darkened  stairs.  She  was  so. 
dazed  and  abstracted  that  she  did  not  fully  realize  where 
she  was,  or  what  she  was  doing,  until  she  felt  her  mother's 
arms  about  her  neck,  and  heard  the  querulous  voice  say  — 

"  My  darling  daughter!  Now  I  do  know  that  it  was 
wrong  to  doubt  you,  even  for  a  single  minnit !  Thank 
God  that  you  are  a  reel  American  girl,  and  that  you  can 
find  your  way  straight  through  Europe  without  being 
watched  over  and  spied  on  like  these  foolish  young  women 
here." 

Then  she  understood  that  her  mother  had  been  aroused 
by  the  sudden  appearance  on  the  scene  of  Stanislas,  and 
that  the  good  woman  had  heard  all. 

"  Europe  is  no  place  for  us,  mother,"  said  Caro,  sud- 
denly, drying  the  tears  which  still  would  persist  in  coming 
unbidden. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

VERA   FINDS   THE   NEW   WORLD. 

WHEN  Alice  had  finished  reading  the  note  which  the  small 
girl  in  black  had  brought  her,  she  hesitated  for  a  minute, 
as  if  in  doubt  whether  it  were  not  her  duty  to  return  and 
inform  her  parents  of  the  strange  message  which  it  con- 
tained. But  presently  her  resolve  was  taken,  and  she 
turned  to  the  diminutive  messenger,  saying  — 
"  Show  me  the  way.  Is  it  far  from  here?  " 
"Not  very  far,  Mademoiselle,"  answered  the  girl; 
"  with  a  carriage  we  can  be  there  in  a  few  minutes.  And 
none  too  soon,  for  the  poor  creature  is  alone,  and  when 
I  left  she  seemed  likely  soon  to  be  unconscious  again." 

Alice  felt  her  heart  thrill  with  pity,  despite  the  hot 
resentment  which  now  and  then  fought  its  way  past  all 
her  best  impulses,  and  insisted  upon  asserting  its  presence 
and  importance.  Proud,  imperious  Vera,  the  nvysterious 
revolutionist,  the  priestess  of  destruction,  the  woman  who 
had  stolen  away  her  love,  who  had  enlisted  the  young 
Indian  in  a  perilous  and  foolhardy  enterprise,  was  ill,  de- 
serted and  forlorn,  in  hired  lodgings  in  the  great  capital, 
and  had  sent  a  piteous  appeal  to  Alice  to  come  to  her  at 
once.  It  was  clearly  her  duty  to  go,  she  thought ;  there 
was  a  passionate  appeal  in  the  nervously  written  words  of 
the  note  which  she  could  not  turn  away  from.  There 
394 


VERA  FINDS   THE  NEW   WORLD.  395 

would  be  time  enough  for  explanation  to  her  parents 
later ;  so  she  hurried  with  the  girl  to  the  vestibule  of  the 
theatre,  and  was  about  to  step  out  into  the  damp  night 
air  with  her,  when  she  discovered  that  she  had  forgotten 
her  cloak. 

"  You  must  return  to  the  box  and  ask  for  my  wraps," 
she  said  to  the  girl.  "  Say  that  I  will  be  back  soon,  and 
take  care  not  to  explain  where  I  am  going.  Hasten !  " 

And  while  the  child  flew  to  obey  her  orders,  she  stood 
looking  out  on  the  dreary  waste  of  the  Place  Me'hul, 
wondering  if  she  were  to  hear  news  of  Pleasant  Merrinott. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  the  crucial  moment  had  arrived ; 
that  now  she  was  to  know  whether  she  were  to  be  con- 
demned to  despair,  or  to  find  new  hope  before  her.  The 
vision  of  the  Cherokee's  dark,  handsome  face  arose  ;  she 
closed  her  eyes  to  force  back  the  tears  which  came  as  she 
thought  of  the  cruel  separation  on  which  he  had  insisted. 
But  suddenly  she  felt  vaguely  conscious  of  a  presence 
which  seemed  to  menace  her,  and,  opening  her  eyes  and 
looking  out  again,  she  saw,  to  her  astonishment  and  horror, 
the  patriarchal  conspirator,  Ignatius,  standing  on  the 
outer  steps,  and  gazing  attentively  at  her.  The  scarred 
and  wrinkled  face,  the  gray  beard,  the  sparkling  eyes,  the 
expression  of  mingled  malice  and  mournful  disappoint- 
ment were  all  burned  into  her  memory,  and  she  recognized 
them  instantly. 

At  first  she  was  frightened,  and  felt  like  calling  for 
protection  from  this  veteran  destructionist,  who  might 
possibly  have  some  vengeance  to  execute  upon  her.  She 
looked  around  ;  there  was  no  one  save  a  lame  programme 
peddler  near  her ;  and  when  she  glanced  out  again,  Ignatius 
was  gone.  Alice  shuddered  as  she  endeavoured  vainly  to 
think  of  a  reason  for  this  apparition  ;  but  when  the  small 
girl  came  back  she  put  on  her  cloak  and  went  away  boldly 
with  her. 


396  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

Alice  was  surprised  when  the  slowly  moving  cab  which 
they  had  taken  stopped  before  the  door  of  a  handsome 
house  on  the  Boulevard  Malesherbes,  near  the  Madeleine. 
Vera  had  left  no  address  on  the  cards  which  she  had  sent 
to  the  Harrelstons,  and  Alice  had  expected  to  be  conducted 
into  some  back  street  in  an  obscure  quarter,  like  that  into 
which  she  had  penetrated  in  pursuit  of  old  Ignatius.  She 
ordered  the  coachman  to  wait  for  her,  and  was  soon  in  the 
long  drawing-room  at  the  top  of  the  house,  where  Colonel 
Cliff,  Vera,  and  Stanislas  had  so  lately  had  their  explana- 
tion. A  single  candle  was  burning  feebly  in  a  bronze 
candelabra  attached  to  the  wall.  There  was  a  faint  odour 
of  perfumes  and  medicines  in  the  room,  and  as  Alice 
entered  she  heard  a  stertorous  breathing  which  alarmed 
her. 

"She  is  off  again!"  said  the  small  girl,  darting  for- 
ward to  the  sofa,  on  which  Vera  was  lying.  "  La  pauvre 
femme  1  And  who  knows  how  long  she  has  been  so !  See, 
she  has  been  biting  her  hands  !  " 

"  What  is  the  cause  of  her  unconsciousness,  of  her 
illness?  "  asked  Alice,  throwing  aside  her  wraps,  and  laying 
her  bonnet  on  the  mantle.  She  did  not  approach  Vera  at 
first ;  she  was  questioning  herself.  But  soon  the  unerring 
feminine  instinct  told  her  that  there  was  no  contamination 
to  be  feared  from  the  helpless,  forlorn  young  creature, 
prostrate  on  the  couch,  with  hands  clenched  convulsively, 
and  with  her  teeth  set  over  one  delicate  finger ;  with 
limbs  rigid,  and  with  features  slightly  distorted  by  the 
violence  of  the  spasm  into  which  she  had  fallen.  She 
believed  that  Vera  was  pure,  however  misguided  she  might 
be,  and  she  went  forward  impulsively,  knelt  down  beside 
the  suffering  girl,  and  began  to  care  for  her. 

"It's  hemorrhages,  Mademoiselle,"  replied  the  small 
attendant.  "She  has  them  for  hours  together,  and  they 
bring  on  these  convulsions,  which  seem  to  rack  her  all  to 


VERA   FINDS   THE   NEW  WORLD.  397 

pieces.  See  the  handkerchief !"  And  she  held  up  one 
saturated  with  blood. 

Alice  shrank  back  in  genuine  alarm.  But  pity  took 
the  place  of  fear.  "  We  must  bring  her  out  of  this  at 
once,"  she  said.  "  Has  she  no  physician. —  no  friends  — 
no  remedies?" 

"  The  .doctor  has  been  here  once,"  answered  the  girl, 
"  and  he  said  he  would  come  again  at  midnight.  He  said, 
too,  Mademoiselle,"  and  the  girl's  voice  sank  to  a  whisper, 
"  that  she  may  in  her  weak  and  excited  condition,  be  suffo- 
cated in  one  of  these  hemorrhages.  She  had  no  one  here 
with  her  but  —  but  Monsieur  Stanislas,  and  —  and  I  think 
they  had  some  kind  of  quarrel.  He  went  away  and  has  not 
come  back.  So  I  begged  of  her  to  send  for  some  one —  and 
— finally  —  she  wrote  the  note  to  you,  and  sent  me  to  the 
theatre  with  it.  She  said  she  knew  you  would  be  there  to- 
night. She  must  be  raised  up  —  see — there  —  she  is  purple 
again.  With  a  bit  of  ice  on  her  forehead  perhaps  she  will 
come  to  her  senses  !  " 

Alice  raised  the  slender  form,  and  supported  it,  while 
the  girl  applied  the  simple  remedies  as  the  physician  and 
Vera  had  taught  her  to  do.  By-and-by  —  it  seemed  to 
Alice  as  if  it  were  an  age  —  Vera's  eyes  opened,  and  she 
released  her  poor  wounded  finger  from  her  teeth,  and  at 
last  let  both  hands  fall  in  her  lap.  An  expression  of  intense 
weariness  came  over  her  face  ;  intelligence  seemed  return- 
ing to  her  gaze  ;  and  Alice  was  about  to  speak  to  her,  when 
she  arose,  with  a  convulsive  spring  and  a  loud  cry,  and 
clasped  the  sofa  to  support  herself.  Then,  shuddering  and 
moaning,  she  settled  slowly  down  again,  and  coughed  until 
the  blood  came  oozing  to  her  lips.  She  groped  foE  a 
handkerchief,  held  it  to  her  mouth,  looked  at  it  as  she 
withdrew  it  saturated  with  the  life  current,  shook  her  head 
mournfully,  and  then  turned  to  Alice. 

"  Ah  !  "  she  murmured,  faintly,  "  you  have  come  !   I  am 


398  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

so  glad  that  you  did  not  refuse  to  see  me !  Can  you  tell 
me  if  it  is  very  —  very  late?  Are  the  lights  out  here?  I 
can  hardly  see  you.  Oh  !  find  me  some  way  to  stop  this  ! 
It  —  is  —  like  hot  steam  !  It  takes  —  my  life  !  " 

"  Let  me  help  you,"  said  Alice,  tremulously.  "Shall 
we  not  send  for  a  physician  again?  Will  you  tell  me, 
now  that  you  are  conscious,  how  to  apply  the  remedies? 
I  will  watch  with  you  until  you  are  better." 

"No  —  no  —  no!"  said  the  Russian  girl,  earnestly. 
"  No  plysicians.  They  can  do  me  no  good.  They  cannot 
even  prevent  me  from  biting  my  hands."  Her  lips 
trembled  and  laboured,  and  she  seemed  about  to  enter 
into  another  convulsion.  But  she  caught  Alice  by  one 
shoulder  with  a  desperate,  yet  not  painfully  emphatic 
movement,  as  though  she  were  anxious  to  cling  to  sanity 
and  a  normal  condition  as  long  as  possible.  "  Do  not  be 
alarmed,"  she  said,  very  sweetly;  "I  shall  find  strength 
and  calmness  yet  to  say  much  to  you  —  for  it  is  to  you 
that  I  —  would  confess." 

Then  she  began  to  babble  in  her  native  language,  and 
to  cough  again,  and  Alice  held  her  until  her  own  strength 
gave  way,  and  she  was  compelled  to  lay  Vera's  head  back 
on  the  sofa  pillow.  The  small  attendant  administered  a 
powerful  restorative  which  the  physician  had  left,  pouring 
it  between  the  Russian  girl's  teeth  as  best  she  could  ;  and, 
after  a  convulsion  in  which  Alice  thought  it  certain  that 
the  frail  life  would  pass  out  into  the  unknown,  Vera 
drifted  once  more  back  to  a  conscious  condition.  She  put 
out  one  cramped  hand  gently  to  Alice,  who  took  it,  and 
held  it  tenderly,  wondering  why  it  was  that  she  no  longer 
felt  any  feeling  of  anger  or  enmity  against  this  woman. 

"It  is  very  pleasant  to  be  cared  for,"  sighed  Vera. 
"I  have  had  but  little  care  in  my  life  —  not  enough,  I  think. 
Do  you  know  that  sometimes  —  even  when  I  have  been 
most  eager  in  my  work  —  my  mission,"  —  she  uttered  these 


VERA  FINDS   THE   NEW   WORLD.  399 

last  words  reverently — "  I  have  been  so  hungry  for  love  — 
that  I  could  have  died  for  lack  of  it !  —  yes,  I  could  have 
died  because  —  but  now  I  see  that  I  was  mistaken  —  that  I 
am  punished  because  I  allowed  my  weak,  human  feelings 
to  turn  me  aside.  Ah  !  do  you  remember  our  little  wager 
of  the  bouquet  of  violets  about  the  Indian's  enthusiasm?  " 

Alice  unconsciously  withdrew  her  hand  from  Vera's, 
and  wild,  unreasoning  resentment  sprang  into  her  heart, 
and  was  manifest  in  her  eyes.  But  the  Russian  girl 
seemed  unabashed  before  it.  There  was  in  Vera's  manner 
an  unearthly  and  spiritual  calm  which  grew  momentarily 
more  and  more  perceptible.  The  sinister  and  harsh  ex- 
pression which  at  times  had  been  so  noticeable  in  her  eyes 
was  gone,  and  in  the  blue  orbs  there  shone  only  compassion, 
regret,  and  resignation.  The  restorative  had  given  her 
temporary  relief  from  the  convulsions,  aud  she  seemed 
thoroughly  composed  as  she  took  Alice's  hand  again,  and 
held  it  as  gently  as  before. 

' '  The  poor  violets  ! ' '  she  said.  ' '  I  had  almost  forgotten 
them  in  the  rush  and  haste  of  important  events.  But  I 
think  that  I  should  have  won  them,  if  Mr.  Merrinott  had 
remained  in  Europe.  For  now  I  do  not  think  that  he 
would  have  lost  his  enthusiasm  or  abated  his  interest  in 
his  work.  I  think  he  was  true  —  true  as  steel." 

The  blood  mounted  to  Alice's  cheeks,  and  she  started 
to  arise,  but  Vera's  slight  grasp  seemed  to  hold  her  down. 
How  could  she  submit  to  hear  praise  of  Pleasant's 
enthusiasm  from  this  mystical  creature  who  had  misled 
him  into  the  maddest  of  ventures  ! 

"What  have  you  done  with  him?"  she  asked  hotly, 
yet  scarcely  knowing  what  she  asked  ;  ' '  where  is  he  ?  I 
will  know  where  you  have  sent  him  ! ' ' 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  that  without  violating  an  oath," 
answered  Vera,  turning  on  her  side  and  fixing  her  blue 
eyes  firmly  upon  Alice.  "But  I  will  tell  you  this  —  that 


400  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

the  mission  upon  which  he  was  sent  is  at  an  end,  and  the 
obligation  which  was  placed  on  him  is  removed.  In 
a  very  few  days  he  will  know  all  about  this.  I  am  sorry 
that  I  cannot  tell  you  more  —  for  I,  too,  know  what  it  is 
to  love " 

"  You  love  him  !  You  love  Pleasant  Merrinott !  "  cried 
Alice,  paling  and  recoiling  from  Vera. 

"  I,  too,  know  what  it  is  to  love,"  repeated  the  Russian 
girl,  calmly.  "To  love  hopelessly,  despairingly:  and  I 
would  not  have  you  suffer  as  I  have  suffered.  No,  it  is  not 
the  Indian  —  good,  brave,  earnest  man  that  he  is,  a  pearl 
among  men  —  it  is  not  Mr.  Merrinott  that  I  love.  But  let 
us  not  talk  of  that.  I  wished  you  to  know  that  the  man 
you  love  is  no  longer  bound  to  us,  unless  he  chooses  to  be 
so.  The  plan  which  we  were  to  work  out  together  has 
been  discovered ;  his  usefulness  and  mine  are  at  an  end. 
He  was  but  a  simple  disciple,  not  yet  bound  to  us  for  ever, 
but  only  for  the  special  work  in  America.  I  hope  that 
now  he  will  come  back  to  you." 

She  pressed  one  hand  to  her  breast  and  began  coughing 
again,  timidly,  as  if  she  suffered  racking  pain.  Then, 
briefly  and  in  impassioned  and  often  eloquent  language, 
she  told  Alice  of  the  failure  of  the  conspiracy,  taking  care 
to  give  her  no  details  as  to  the  actual  aims  of  the  con- 
spirators either  in  Europe  or  America.  She  recited  the 
treachery  of  Stanislas,  and  became  so  strongly  excited 
that  Alice,  whose  brain  was  giddy  with  newty-awakened 
hopes  and  fears,  vainly  besought  her  to  cease  talking. 

"  It  was  my  punishment,"  said  Vera,  "  my  punishment 
that  I  should  have  been  deceived  in  Stanislas  ;  punishment 
for  allowing  love  to  creep  into  my  heart  after  I  had  vowed 
myself,  my  whole  existence,  my  talents,  my  energies,  to 
the  work  of  destruction.  I  fought  against  the  passion 
with  all  my  might ;  I  tried  to  root  it  out  of  my  heart ;  but 
it  was  useless.  I  could  not  do  it.  I  made  him  my  con- 


VEKA  FINDS   THE   NEW   WOULD.  401 

vert,  gave  him  my  confidence,  took  him  into  my  plans, 
because  I  loved  him.  If  I  had  not  yielded  to  the  voice  of 
love  I  should  have  been  successful,  and  I  would  have  made 
society  tremble  to  its  foundations ! ' ' 

There  was  a  strange  fire  in  her  eyes  as  she  spoke  thus. 
For  a  minute  she  was  the  old  Vera,  the  determined  and 
powerful  agent  of  Bakounin  ;  but  the  gleam  faded  away, 
and  again  she  was  only  the  suffering  woman. 

"  If  I  have  caused  you  any  unhappiness,  forgive  me," 
whispered  Vera,  after  she  had  spoken  anew  of  Stanislas's 
betrayal  of  her  plans,  and  the  deadly  danger  in  which  he 
had  thus  placed  himself.  "  Now  that  I  know  life  is  over 
for  me  I  feel  a  strange  longing  to  leave  as  few  unhappy 
ones  among  the  innocent  as  possible." 

Alice  knelt  down  by  the  Russian  girl's  side  again. 
"Do  not  be  downcast,"  she  said.  "You  will  recover 
from  your  illness  and  from  jTour  dream  of  destruction, 
and  the  world  will  be  full  of  hope  for  you." 

Vera's  lips  began  to  tremble  and  twitch  once  more. 
But  she  kept  her  eyes  fixed  on  Alice's  face. 

"  You  are  a  good,  sweet  girl,"  she  said,  softly.  "I 
should  be  —  very  happy  —  if  you  would  kiss  me  on  my 
forehead." 

It  was  only  for  an  instant  that  Alice  wavered  in  pres- 
ence of  this  request,  but  Vera's  fine  perceptions  were 
not  to  be  deceived. 

"  You  need  not  fear,  my  dear,"  she  added,  proudly,  but 
speaking  even  more  softly  than  before.  "  I  am  as  pure  and 
as  true  as  you  are.  There  is  no  stain  of  the  world  upon 
me.  My  errors  have  been  errors  of  the  spirit  alone.  I 
have  lived  as  a  priestess  of  the  Absolute  Idea  should  live." 
And  the  proud  yet  broken-hearted  virgin  revolutionist 
feebly  raised  her  head,  as  if  inviting  the  caress  which  she 
had  solicited. 

Alice  stooped  and  kissed  her  pale  brow.     "We  must 


402  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

save  you,"  she  said.  "  Let  me  send  word  to  my  family  ; 
we  will  have  the  best  physicians.  You  must  not  sink 
down  into  discouragement  and  death." 

The  little  maid  brought  the  medicine,  and  Vera  was 
about  to  take  a  strong  dose,  when  her  hands  clenched 
again,  her  eyes  closed,  and  she  babbled  incoherently,  now 
in  French,  now  in  Russian,  now  in  English.  Alice  was 
thoroughly  alarmed,  and  despatched  the  girl  for  the  doc- 
tor, not  daring  to  wait  until  midnight.  Vera  beat  her 
breast,  and  murmured  at  the  pain  which  she  felt.  Her 
limbs  were  rigid,  and  poor  Alice  passed  terrible  minutes 
while  the  attendant  was  absent.  Just  as  she  returned, 
with  the  fat  physician  panting  behind  her,  Vera  sprang 
up  once  more  with  a  loud  cry,  and  fell  back  immediately, 
holding  both  hands  over  her  right  breast.  Then  she 
muttered  — 

"  Save  him,  warn  him,  warn  Stanislas  —  the  vengeance ! 
And  remember  the  —  Absolute  Idea — man's  will  must  be 
done  !  The  world  —  must  crumble  into  rums  ;  a  new  world 
must  arise  —  and  a  new  society  reign  triumphant  on  the 
ruins  of  the  old.  You  will  see  it,  you  who  remain  behind  ! 
They  who  are  left  will  finish  the  work " 

She  seemed  to  be  searching  for  Alice,  but  her  eyes 
were  only  half  open,  and  she  did  not  look  toward  the  girl. 
She  continued  to  talk  in  English  —  interspersing  her 
monologue  with  scraps  of  other  languages  —  and  to  tell 
of  the  charms  which  the  new  world  would  possess.  Then 
came  a  violent  convulsion,  so  prolonged  that  the  doctor 
shook  his  head,  and  talked  of  sending  for  a  priest. 

' '  What  are  her  wishes  ?  Does  any  one  know  ?  If  I 
could  but  bring  her  back  to  consciousness  once  more  !  Give 
me  the  brandy  !  and  a  fan !  and  you,  little  one,  rub  her 
feet !  We  must  not  let  her  remain  in  this  condition." 

But,  even  while  he  spoke,  Vera  had  passed  beyond  the 
reach  of  his  skill.  The  apostle  of  destruction,  the  priestess 


VERA   FESTDS   THE  NEW   WORLD.  403 

of  the  Absolute  Idea,  had  departed  for  a  new  world, 
grander  than  any -which  Bakounin  had  ever  evolved  from 
the  recesses  of  his  fiery  imagination.  Death  had  so  subtly 
severed  the  chords  of  the  slender  life  that  the  great  change 
had  been  almost  imperceptible,  and  Alice  could  not  believe 
the  doctor's  sorrowful  announcement  until  she  had  looked 

for  some  minutes  upon  the  still  face. 

****** 

It  was  nearly  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  Alice, 
accompanied  by  the  physician,  reached  her  home,  and  told 
her  half-distracted  parents,  who  had  just  sent  two  servants 
to  Miss  Merlin's  house  in  quest  of  her,  supposing  her  to 
have  accompanied  the  unlucky  Caro  home,  of  the  scene 
which  she  had  witnessed.  Her  mother  was  strangely 
frugal  of  reproof  for  her  absence ;  and  her  father,  who 
seemed  in  a  curiously  tender  mood,  led  her  into  the 
library,  and  showed  her  a  blue  telegram  lying  on  his  desk. 

"  Read  it,"  he  said,  "  and  then  go  to  bed,  little  Alice." 

The  girl  obeyed.  It  was  from  Mr.  Harrelston's  agent 
in  St.  Louis,  and  announced  that  Pleasant  Merrinott  had 
returned  quietly  to  his  home  in  the  Cherokee  Nation,  and 
had  thus  far  done  nothing  more  mysterious  than  to  settle 
peacefully  down  on  his  farm.  Alice  let  the  despatch  fall 
from  her  trembling  hands.  Her  father  picked  it  up  and 
folded  it. 

"I  shall  sail  for  America  in  the  Pereire  next  Saturday," 
he  said.  "  Would  you  like  to  accompany  me?  " 

"  If  you  think  it  best,  papa." 

"  Very  well.  To  bed ;  and  to-morrow  we  will  see  that 
the  unfortunate  Russian  girl  has  decent  burial  —  a  proper 
funeral " 

"That's  kind,  Eric,"  said  his  wife,  who  was  looking  in 
at  the  library  door;  "but  I  don't  think  that  the  poor 
creature  was  a  Christian." 

"  Perhaps  not,  my  love  ;  but  I  am  one." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

BLUELOTS    AND   MERRINOTTS. 

IF  any  one  who  had  never  before  seen  him  had  looked 
upon  Pleasant  Merrinott,  as  he  stood  at  the  entrance  of  a 
great  thicket  in  his  beloved  Indian  Territory  on  a  sun- 
shiny morning,  twenty  days  after  the  unfortunate  Vera 
was  dead  and  buried,  and  after  Alice  and  her  father  had 
sailed  from  Havre  for  America,  he  might  readily  have  fan- 
cied the  young  Indian  a  prophet  of  his  tribe.  Pleasant's 
devotion  to  the  mystical  doctrines  of  Bakounin  had  done 
him  serious  harm,  and  had  it  not  been  for  the  sturdy 
resistance  offered  by  his  magnificent  physical  organization, 
he  might  already  have  been  registered  among  the  many 
made  insane  by  the  great  "  apostle  of  man's  will." 

Had  he  remained  in  Paris,  he  would  have  been  lost.  The 
vastness  of  the  vengeance  upon  society  which  he  had  been 
led  to  plan,  his  doubts  and  pcqolexities  as  to  his  duty  to 
Alice,  the  hunger  of  his  love,  the  torturing  anxieties  as  to 
the  fate  of  his  sister  conspirator,  who,  in  his  misguided  en- 
thusiasm, he  had  learned  to  revere  as  a  saint  who  awaited, 
with  tender  and  sweet  resignation,  the  martyr's  crown  — 
all  these,  any  one  of  which  was  enough  to  break  down  a 
man  of  less  elastic  temperament,  had  so  preyed  upon  him 
that  he  was  nervous,  choleric,  capricious  in  his  moods. 

When  he  had  suddenly  reappeared  among  his  people  in 
the  vicinity  of  Tahlequah,  the  chief  town  in  the  Cherokee 

404 


BLUELOTS   AND   MEERINOTTS.  405 

Nation,  and  had  shown  little  or  no  disposition  to  acquaint 
the  simple  folk,  whose  interests  he  had  once  seemed  to 
have  so  much  at  heart,  with  the  result  of  his  self-imposed 
mission,  they  had  whispered-  together  that  he  had  been 
unsuccessful.  Much  to  his  surprise  and  indignation,  they 
soon  began  to  look  askance  at  him,  and  he  found  out  the 
truth  of  the  melancholy  proverb  that  a  prophet  is  not 
without  honour  save  in  his  own  country.  His  enemies 
were  not  slow  to  perceive  that  something  extraordinary 
had  happened  to  destroy  Pleasant' s  prestige  ;  and  some  of 
them  circulated  rumours  that  he  had  been  converted  to 
their  views,  that  he  now  admitted  the  necessity  of  opening 
the  territory  to  the  white  man,  of  giving  up  the  ancient 
habit  of  holding  the  lands  in  common,  and  of  merging 
race  and  uniting  possessions  with  those  of  the  stronger 
and  richer  neighbours. 

When  Pleasant  heard  that  he  was  thus  misrepresented, 
he  at  first  flew  into  such  a  terrible  passion  that  he  was 
almost  uncontrollable.  He  attributed  the  lies  to  the  Blue- 
lots,  his  hereditary  adversaries,  the  cruel  half-breeds  who 
had  killed  his  brother  Elias,  and  he  was  not  wrong.  They 
sneered  openly  at  his  "  mission,"  went  about  sowing  dis- 
cord even  in  the  camps  of  his  friends,  and  announced  their 
purpose  of  "  shooting  him  at  sight."  They  pretended  that 
he  had  espoused  the  views  of  then-  faction  with  some 
sinister  and  concealed  motive.  This  was  grave.  Pleas- 
ant fully  appreciated  its  gravity,  armed  himself,  and  slept 
with  barricaded  doors.  When  he  went  abroad  he  moved 
as  if  he  were  in  a  hostile  country.  Once  he  had  been  so 
popular  that  a  dozen  humbler  Indians  were  glad  to  follow 
in  his  train  when  he  went  forth  to  hunt  or  to  visit  a 
neighbour's  farm,  and  any  one  of  these  dusky  rustic  re- 
tainers would  willingly  have  lain  down  his  life  for  the 
man  who  wished  to  revive  the  independence  and  the  purity 
of  race  of  the  ancient  Cherokees.  But  now  he  went  uu- 


406  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

attended  save  by  one  or  two  of  his  own  relatives,  who 
were  themselves  half  angry  with  him  for  not  explaining 
his  position,  and  who  regretted  his  return  because  they 
felt  that  it  would  inevitably  precipitate  a  struggle  which 
they  had  hoped  to  avoid. 

At  this  juncture  of  affairs  Pleasant  was  surprised,  one 
morning,  in  his  own  house,  by  the  entrance  of  a  delega- 
tion of  dark-skinned,  stern-faced  farmers,  accompanied 
by  a  few  Indians  of  the  less  civilized  sort.  He  sat  before 
a  smouldering  fire  on  the  hearthstone,  and  his  mother, 
crouching  beside  him,  held  his  right  hand  in  hers,  while 
she  kept  her  great  jet-black  eyes  fastened  on  his  weary 
and  perplexed  face.  Pleasant's  heart  was  deeply  wounded 
by  the  mute  reproach  which  he  saw  in  his  mother's  eyes. 
Every  one  distrusted  him  ;  and  when  he  saw  the  delegates 
mustering  on  the  broad  doorsteps  he  knew  that  the  critical 
moment  was  at  hand.  A  great  desire  came  upon  him  to 
arise  and  go  among  this  waiting  throng,  and  tell  them  to 
follow  him  ;  that  he  would  raise  the  standard  of  resistance  ; 
that  it  was  their  sacred  duty  to  rebel,  with  arms  in  their 
hands,  against  every  attempt  to  force  the  company  of  the 
whites  upon  them.  A  body  of  restless  and  ambitious  men 
from  Iowa  and  other  North-western  States  was  still  en- 
camped On  the  border  line  —  some  said  actually  within  it  — 
awaiting  a  favourable  occasion  for  making  their  onslaught 
undisturbed,  and  taking  possession  of  some  fat  lands  which 
they  coveted.  "Why  could  he  not  rouse  these  half-civilized 
farmers,  these  children  of  the  forest,  who  would  enjoy 
nothing  more  than  a  relapse  into  the  habits  of  their  ances- 
tors, and  who,  once  on  the  war-path,  would  fight  desper- 
ately to  preserve  their  rights  ?  He  had  but  to  say  the  word 
—  and  all  his  lost  influence  would  come  back  !  He  started 
from  his  seat  to  go  to  them,  and  to  electrify  them  with 
passionate  words ;  but  in  a  moment  he  sank  back  again. 
The  images  of  Ignatius  and  Vera  came  before  him. 


BLUELOTS   AND   MERRINOTTS.  407 

No !  he  must  be  silent !  How  could  he  explain  to  these 
men  of  the  woods  and  plains  that  since  he  had  gone  forth 
into  the  world  as  their  champion  he  had  been  converted  to 
a  doctrine  which  was  beyond  their  comprehension ;  that, 
in  despair  because  he  could  not  secure  their  rights  and  his 
own  rights,  he  had  become  an  apostle  of  destruction  ;  had 
taken  a  solemn  vow  to  aid  in  pulling  down  the  edifice  which 
could  not  be  improved  ;  and  had  determined  to  whelm  him- 
self with  them  in  general  ruin,  rather  than  to  struggle  for  a 
partial  rebuilding  and  remodeling,  for  which  it  was  useless 
to  hope?  How  could  he  tell  them  of  Bakounin,  and  that 
he,  Pleasant  Merrinott,  had  returned  to  America  as  the 
agent  of  a  secret  organization,  delegated  to  attempt  an 
act  which  would  bring  upon  him  ignominy  and  execration  ? 
No,  no  ;  silence  was  his  only  refuge  ;  he  must  be  content 
to  be  misunderstood.  He  could  not  tell  his  own  mother 
of  the  fearful  responsibilities  which  he  had  accepted,  and 
it  was  absurd  to  think  of  unfolding  its  nature  to  men  who 
had  not  yet  wholly  laid  aside  the  habits  of  savagery. 

The  delegation  prepared  to  come  into  the  house,  finding 
that  Pleasant  was  not  disposed  to  come  out.  Hi&  mother 
whispered  to  him  in  Cherokee,  "  Your  Winchester  is  lean- 
ing against  the  right  side  of  the  chimney.  Don't  let  them 
surprise  you." 

"There  will  be  no  shooting,  mother,"  said  Pleasant, 
sadly.  "  At  least,  none  on  my  part." 

The  men  filed  in  slowly  through  the  door,  which  was 
opened  by  Arch  Sixkiller,  himself  one  of  the  delegates, 
and  yet  a  dependent  of  the  Merrinotts.  Pleasant  did 
not  rise,  but  looked  up  proudly.  The  delegation  got  into 
order,  and  the  young  Indian  noted,  with  a  bit  of  surprise, 
that  it  was  composed  of  most  of  the  important  persons 
who  had  signed  the  original  protest  which  he  had  volun- 
teered to  carry  to  Europe  and  present  to  Mr.  Harrelston. 
There  they  were  —  Cornelius  Blackfox,  Felix  Redbird, 


408  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

Arch  Sixkiller,  Hurry  "Walkinstick — Hurry  had  a  feather 
in  his  long  black  hair — Scale  Ragsdale,  Sultuckee  Charlie, 
Synequvar,  Stoning  Deer,  Garwarlarkee,  Fishinghawk, 
Killerbill,  Watts  Johnson,  Mix  "Water  Mink,  Ridder 
Sleepingman,  Tee-cah-see-mu-kee,  Ezekiel  Hair,  John 
Bross,  Stand-in-the-Water,  Blue  Trap,  John  Proctor, 
and  their  untamed  brethren  from  the  great  plains  in 
blankets  and  war-paint.  All  of  the  men  were  armed, 
but  none  of  them  manifested  any  immediate  hostile  in- 
tentions. There  was,  however,  no  friendliness  in  any 
face.  Every  one  seemed  anxious  to  convey,  by  his  ex- 
pression, the  strongest  sense  of  disapproval  and  reproach. 

Pleasant  folded  his  hands  across  his  knees,  and  awaited 
the  address  of  the  spokesman.  His  mother  arose,  and 
standing  behind  him,  rested  her  hands  upon  his  shoulders, 
but  kept  a  watchful  eye  on  the  "Winchester  rifle  leaning 
against  the  chimney-piece. 

Cornelius  Blackfox  did  the  talking,  and  it  was  very 
short.  He  spoke  in  Cherokee,  which  is  quite  as  energetic 
as  English,  and  the  substance  of  his  remarks  was  as  fol- 
lows. Pleasant  had  volunteered  to  defend  the  menaced 
interests  of  the  Cherokees.  He  had  received  their  con- 
fidence, and  had  gone  away  to  Europe,  to  foreign  places 
which  they  had  never  even  heard  of,  but  where  there 
were  plots  on  foot  against  their  homes  and  lands.  He 
had  at  first  worked  well  for  them,  and  had  been  requested 
to  remain  abroad  for  a  year  or  more.  But  now  he  re- 
appeared among  them,  having  relinquished  his  task  at  a 
moment  when  his  presence  in  Europe  was  most  necessary  ; 
—  and  in  addition  to  this  singular  conduct  he  refused  even 
to  explain  it,  or  to  give  them  any  account  of  what  he  had 
done.  They  had  waited  about  long  enough ;  they  had 
slowly  come  to  a  conclusion  which  would  have  been 
reached  more  speedily  had  they  not  remembered  that 
Pleasant  was  a  Merrinott,  and  the  son  of  a  Merriuott 


BLUELOTS   AND   MERRINOTTS.  409 

who  had  been  high  in  honour  among  them.  That  conclu- 
sion was  that  Pleasant  had  been  "  bought  up  ;  "  in  short, 
that  he  was  a  traitor,  and  that  he  had  thought,  by  coolly 
returning  among  them  and  maintaining  an  obstinate  silence, 
to  prevent  any  unpleasant  questions.  They  considered 
his  manner  of  proceeding  entirely  unjustifiable,  and  they 
therefore  now  gave  Pleasant  Merriuott  notice  that  he 
must  furnish  them  a  definite  explanation  of  his  actions 
on  the  fifth  day  after  the  visit  of  this  delegation  at  this, 
his  own  house,  or  must  be  prepared — and  here  Cornelius 
Blackfox  paused  a  moment  as  if  to  give  effect  to  his  words, 

—  "to  be  run  out  of  the  country."     Then  Cornelius,  who 
was   a  full-blood,   and   solemn   and   undemonstrative    in 
demeanour,  fell  back  into  the  line  out  of  which  he  had 
stepped  to  deliver  his  remarks,  and  awaited  Pleasant's 
answer.  • 

There  was  a  look  of  sullen  disappointment  on  all  the 
faces  when  Pleasant,  without  rising,  and  with  a  sombre 
and  mysterious  expression,  said  that  many  things  might 
happen  in  five  days ;  that  he  was  sorry  the  delegation 
came  in  a  suspicious  frame  of  mind ;  that  some  time 
every  member  of  it  would  regret  his  suspicions  ;  and  that 
he  would  receive  them  five  days  from  that  time,  and  would 
then  answer  them  more  fully  or  not,  as  he  saw  fit. 

One  or  two  of  the  wilder  members  of  the  company 
seemed  inclined  to  disturbance,  but  Cornelius  Blackfox 
quieted  them,  and,  after  announcing  that  all  would  come 
again  on  the  fifth  day  at  the  exact  hour  appointed,  he 
marshalled  his  men  into  single  file,  and  they  went  out 
through  the  low  doorway  without  casting  a  look  behind 
them.  They  mounted  their  horses,  which  had  been  teth- 
ered at  a  short  distance  from  the  dwelling,  and  rode  away, 

—  all  but  Arch  Sixkiller,  who  lived  on  Pleasaut's  farm, 
and  who  came  in  again  as  soon  as  the  horsemen  had 
vanished. 


410  THE   GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

"  Pleasant,"  he  said,  in  Cherokee,  "  I  want  to  warn  you. 
Dou't  take  it  an}'  other  way  than  it's  meant.  The  Bluelots 
have  been  seen  about  here,  and  perhaps  they're  waiting 
for  a  chance  to  meet  you.  They  were  inquiring  down  the 
road  what  our  party  was  to  do  up  here  to-day,  and  —  and 
one  of  'em  said  he'd  take  charge  of  the  job  of  ridding 
the  country  of  you.  I  don't  mean  any  harm  ;  I  tell  you 
just  as  the  folks  say  'twas  said." 

The  brows  of  the  Merrinotts — mother  and  son — grew 
dark.  The  mother  was  thinking  of  her  boy  Elias,  who 
was  brought  home  to  her  dead,  killed  by  the  ever  inimical 
Bluelots.  Pleasant  was  thinking  of  the  Bluelot  who  had 
thrown  him  into  the  Grand  River.  For  a  few  minutes 
the  thought  of  his  mission  —  his  vengeance  on  society  — 
vanished,  and  his  heart  was  filled  with  a  savage  thirst  for 
an  encounter  with  the  Bluelots.  Let  them  come,  one  and 
all ;  he  felt  equal  to  meeting  them. 

"'  Go  away,  Arch,"  he  said,  softly.  "  You  mean  well, 
I  reckon.  Never  mind  the  Bluelots.  We  shall  have  to 
have  it  out,  some  day."  He  turned  toward  his  mother 
as  if  to  reassure  her,  and  was  surprised  to  find  a  barbaric 
glow  of  satisfaction  in  her  eyes.  Evidently  -she  hoped 
that  he  would  avenge  his  brother's  death. 

Men  like  to  fancy  that  they  control  and  make  events. 
but  they  are  the  veriest  creatures  of  circumstance.  Had 
Pleasant  known,  as  he  would  certainly  have  known  had 
he  not  so  utterly  secluded  himself  from  the  outer  world 
since  his  return  from  Europe,  that  his  fellow-conspirator 
Vera  had  gone  the  way  of  all  the  earth,  he  would  have 
spoken  to  the  Indian  delegation ;  he  might  have  placed 
himself  at  their  head,  and  gone  forth  on  some  unwise  and 
useless  expedition.  A  certain  epistle  mailed  to  him  from 
Europe  had  gone  astray  because  of  its  defective  superscrip- 
tion. The  letter  was  sent  by  old  Ignatius  from  a  Swiss 
town  (Ignatius  dared  not  send  a  telegram)  — and  announced 


BLUELOTS   AND  MEREINOTTS.  411 

in  covert  language  the  death  of  Vera,  and  the  consequent 
"  necessity  of  postponing  all  action  beyond  the  Atlantic  " 
until  a  substitute  for  Vera  could  be  found,  and  simul- 
taneous action  in  Russia  and  America  could  once  more  be 
arranged.  What  new  resolves  might  not  Pleasant,  — 
capricious  creature  that  he  was  —  have  formed,  had  he 
received  this  missive  ?  While  he  thought  he  was  fulfilling 
his  mission  of  destruction,  half  a  dozen  unforeseen  con- 
tingencies had  shaped  for  him  an  entirely  new  course, 

and  had  pushed  him  into  it. 

****** 

It  was  on  the  morning  after  the  visit  of  the  angry  dele- 
gation that  Pleasant  was  standing  at  the  border  of  the 
great  thicket,  with  the  mystical  and  prophetic  look  upon 
his  face.  He  was  in  daily  expectation  of  being  called  — 
through  the  medium  of  a  cipher-word  sent  by  telegram 
from  Russia  —  to  proceed  upon  his  dread  mission. 

His  soul  recoiled  with  horror  from  the  task  set  for  him  ; 
it  seemed  to  him  revolting  to  strike  down  an  exalted  and 
unsuspecting  functionary,  who  was  peacefully  discharging 
his  duties  ;  but  the  specious  doctrine  that  ' '  the  end  justi- 
fies the  means"  had  made  sad  inroads  upon  his  conscience. 
He  expected  that  death  would  be  his  certain  lot  after  he 
had  done  his  part  in  the  conspiracy.  He  fancied  that 
Vera  would  also  find  death  close  beside  her  duty,  and 
he  wondered  if  they  would  meet  in  any  future  life,  any 
spiritual  new  world,  from  which  they  could  look  out  over 
this  planet,  and  learn  whether  their  desperate  efforts  to 
establish  a  new  society  on  the  ruins  of  the  old  one  had 
been  crowned  with  success.  And  then,  the  horrible  pos- 
sibility that  both  Vera  and  himself  might  be  dupes  —  that 
perhaps  they  were  risking  their  young  lives,  sacrificing 
their  loves,  their  honours,  everything,  for  a  vain  chimera, 
flashed  through  his  mind  ;  and  he  reeled  beneath  it  as  if 
it  had  been  a  stroke,  while  he  stood  silently  watching  the 


412  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

waving  grasses  and  the  dewdrops  still  glistening  upon 
them. 

Far  off,  in  a  patch  of  woods,  the  wild  turkeys  were 
calling ;  the  musical  bay  of  a  hound  was  now  and  then 
borne  on  the  breeze  to  Pleasant' s  ears ;  from  time  to 
time  his  quick  hearing  noted  woodland  signs  which  would 
have  passed  unobserved  by  a  less  experienced  forester. 
While  he  was  knitting  his  brows  in  the  anguish  of  his 
speculation  concerning  his  part  in  "  the  .conspiracy,"  a 
noise  in  the  thicket  warned  him  that  a  deer  Was  not  far 
away.  His  Winchester  was  suspended  over  one  shoulder, 
so  that  he  could  bring  it  into  play  at  an  instant's  notice  — 
for  he  by  no  means  disdained  Arch  Sixkiller's  warning 
about  the  Bluelots  —  and  in  his  cartridge-belt  a  navy 
revolver  was  ready  to  his  hand.  Armed  as  he  was,  from 
a  decent  shelter  he  would  have  been  able  to  do  fearful 
execution  on  an  attacking  force. 

The  familiar  forest  sounds  suddenly  awakened  his  old 
semi-savage  enthusiasm.  For  the  time  Vera,  Ignatius, 
and  all  the  incidents  of  and  figures  in  the  conspiracy  faded 
away,  and  his  whole  attention  was  concentrated  on  the 
fact  that  a  deer  was  softly  moving  through  the  thicket, 
and  would  presently  be  visible  in  the  open.  The  mystical 
look  fled  from  the  bronze  mask,  and  was  replaced  by  one 
of  intense,  half -ferocious  attention.  He  caught  his  rifle 
in  both  hands,  examined  it,  made  it  ready  for  instant 
use,  and  stood  motionless,  as  if  he  had  been  made  of  iron. 
So  stood  his  ancestors  many  a  time  when  they  huuted  the 
deer  in  the  glades  of  Georgia. 

All  at  once  the  expected  deer  burst  from  cover,  a 
palpitating  and  delicately  suspicious  thing,  and  stood 
snuffing  the  air,  as  if  fearing  that  the  danger  were  therein. 
Pleasant,  concealed  by  a  tuft  of  bushes,  dropped  on  one 
knee  and  took  aim.  But  at  that  moment  a  shot  from 
another  rifle  cracked  sharply,  followed  instantly  by  a 


BLUELOTS   AND   MERRIXOTTS.  413 

secoud,  and  the  deer  bounded  and  fell  dying.  There  was 
a  rustling  in  the  leaves  opposite  Pleasant,  and  then  a  tall, 
elderly,  powerfully  built  half-breed  stepped  into  the  open 
plaiu. 

It  was  the  eldest  of  the  Bluelot  brothers,  the  repulsive 
and  vindictive  wretch  who  had  thrown  Pleasant  into  the 
Grand  River  when  he  was  but  a  child ;  who,  rumour  said, 
was  the  murderer  of  young  Elias  Merrinott ;  and  who  had 
just  discharged  both  barrels  of  his  rifle  at  the  unlucky 
deer. 

Pleasant  sprang  out  from  his  concealment  and  covered 
hun  instantly  with  his  Winchester.  "  Drop  your  gun  and 
put  up  your  hands,"  he  cried,  in  Cherokee,  and  in  loud, 
ringing  tones. 

o       o 

Bluelot  and  Merrinott,  with  the  slain  deer  between 
them,  stood  glaring  at  each  other. 

"  Quick  !  "  said  Pleasant. 

The  Bluelot  was  amazed.  He  did  as  bid.  His  rifle 
fell  on  the  grass  ;  his  hands  went  up.  "  You've  got  the 
drop  on  me,  Pleasant,"  he  said,  sullenly.  "  But  my  folks 
are  not  far  off.  Your  time's  short.  I  shan't  beg. 
Shoot,  you  coward  !  " 

"Now,  Elias,"  thought  Pleasant,  "you  are  avenged  !  " 
The  frown  on  his  brow  grew  murderous.  The  Bluelot's 
insult  had  filled  his  heart  with  rage.  His  time  for 
vengeance  had  come! 

But  just  as  he  was  about  to  execute  the  Bluelot,  whose 
face  contracted  as  he  saw  the  young  man's  grasp  tighten 
on  his  Winchester,  there  arose  before  him  the  sweet 
slopes  of  the  Brunig,  and  the  vale  of  Meiringen  in  its 
peaceful  beaut}-  below,  and  the  lines  of  snow-clad  mountains 
in  the  background,  and  he  bethought  him  of  the  promise 
which  he  had  made  to  Alice  Harrelston  in  that  charming 
Swiss  retreat  only  a  weeks  before.  He  saw  Alice's  lovely 
face  again,  and  he  seemed  to  hear  her  saying,  "  Promise  me 


414  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

that,  whatever  happens,  you  will  do  nothing  to  prolong 
the  feud  with  the  Bluelots,  and  that  if  you  are  brought 
into  contact  with  them  you  will  never  use  a  weapon  unless 
it  is  entirely  in  self-defence." 

He  had  promised.  He  remembered  it  now.  He  had 
promised  to  Alice  —  the  lost,  the  beloved  Alice!  And 
that  promise  must  be  sacredly  kept.  The  Bluelot  had  not 
yet  attacked  him.  Clearly  this  shot  which  Pleasant  was 
about  to  fire  would  not  be  absolutely  in  self-defence — but 
an  act  of  revenge. 

He  threw  the  "Winchester  into  the  thicket ;  took  the 
revolver  from  his  belt,  and  pitched  it  after  the  Winchester ; 
then,  folding  his  arms,  said  to  the  astonished  Bluelot  — 

"  I  don't  want  your  blood.  Go  your  way,  and  I  will 
go  mine." 

At  the  same  moment  his  ear  caught  the  sound  of  foot- 
steps in  the  thicket.  The  other  Bluelots  were,  perhaps,  at 
hand.  He  regretted  that  he  had  thrown  away  both  his 
weapons. 

His  adversary  had  lowered  his  arms,  and  in  his  right 
hand  now  gleamed  a  loaded  pistol. 

"The}-  told  me  you  was  half  cracked,"  he  said,  in 
English,  "  and  now  I  reckon  I'll  have  to  believe  'em.  You 
don't  want  my  blood,  don't  ye?  Mighty  kind,  ain't  ye, 
now?  Wai,  I  do  want  yourn  ;  but  I'll  give  ye  a  chance. 
Run,  ye  coward,  and  mebbe  I  won't  hit  ye!  Skip,  now, 
or  ye're  a  dead  man  !  " 

He  took  deliberate  aim  at  the  young  man's  heart. 

"Run?"  said  the  youth.  "A  Merrinott  run?  From 
a  Bluelot?  "  And  he  stood  motionless. 

The  footsteps  grew  louder,  came  hastily  nearer ;  there 
were  many  voices.  "  Come  on,  boys,"  shouted  the  Bluelot, 
fancying  himself  addressing  his  brother  and  their  sons, 
"  here's  something  that  will  please  ye." 

Pleasant  fancied    that   the   earth    rocked   beneath  his 


BLUELOTS   AND   MEKKINOTTS.  415 

feet,  but  he  maintained  his  bold  front.  In  another  minute, 
he  thought,  all  will  be  over. 

There  was  a  loud  shout.  "Strangers!"  cried  the 
Bluelot,  with  an  oath,  and,  fearful  lest  his  prey  might 
escape  him,  he  fired.  Pleasant  unfolded  his  arms,  and  in 
a  moment  or  two  fell  face  downward  on  the  grass.  At  the 
same  instant  the  Bluelot  was  felled  by  a  heavy  blow  from 
the  butt  of  a  carbine,  and  two  or  three  soldiers  ran  forward 
to  the  spot  where  Pleasant  was  lying.  Behind  them  came 
a  tall  man  in  travelling  dress,  who,  after  gazing  in  amaze- 
ment for  a  minute,  raised  the  prostrate  form  gently  in  his 
arms. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  he  said,  "  that  this  time  my  interference 
in  this  wretched  feud  has  come  too  late." 

Pleasant  gave  no  sign  of  life. 


CHAPTER  XXXVH. 

ALICE   TO   THE   RESCUE. 

THE  day  on  which  Pleasant  was  to  give  his  answer  to  the 
Indians  whom  he  was  supposed  to  have  cheated  and 
offended  had  arrived.  Morning  dawned  delightful!}-,  as 
it  always  does  even  in  November  in  the  beautiful  South- 
western Territory  ;  then  about  nine  o'clock  came  a  slight 
snow  fall,  which  seemed  ashamed  of  its  intrusion  upon  a 
land  in  which  the  birds  sing  all  winter,  and  which  is  nearest 
neighbour  to  semi-tropical  Texas ;  and  finally  arrived  a 
scorching  noonday,  which  banished  the  snow,  leaving 
only  slender  memorials  of  it  in  glittering  tears  on  the 
stubble  of  the  corn,  on  the  symmetrical  trees,  and  on  the 
waving  grasses  upon  a  huge  mysterious  mound  not  far 
from  Pleasant's  dwelling.  By  the  time  that  Arch  Six- 
killer  had  sighted  the  long  procession  of  stern-looking 
Indians,  arriving  in  single  file,  mounted  upon  shaggy 
horses,  sun  and  gentle  breezes  had  done  their  best  to  prove 
that  winter  was  only  an  audacious  intruder,  who  had  strayed 
over  the  frontier,  to  be  driven  back  ingloriously,  like 
Pleasant's  enemies  who  wished  to  squat  upon  the  fat  lands 
of  the  Nation. 

Within  the  farmhouse  silence  reigned.  The  mottled 
hounds  seemed  to  know  that  something  was  wrong,  and 
were  moodily  reclining  on  the  broad  doorsteps,  feigning 

410 


ALICE  TO  THE  fcESCtTE.  417 

sleep,  but  starting  uneasily  at  the  slightest  sound  outside, 
as  if  well  aware  that  their  master  lay  at  death's  door 
within,  and  must  on  no  account  be  disturbed.  Two  farm 
hands,  who  looked  more  like  warriors  of  the  epoch  of  the 
ancient  Cherokee  grandeur  than  like  common  labourers, 
stood  beside  a  rude  fence,  holding  themselves  proudl}' 
erect,  as  if  anticipating  attack.  It  would  not  be  too  much 
to  sa}-  that  this  is  exactly  what  they  did  expect,  and  that 
they  were  prepared  to  defend  the  Merrinott  hearthstone  to 
the  uttermost. 

Afar  off  could  be  heard  the  solemn  and  harmonious 
flow  o'f  a  great  river,  moving  onward  to  its  junction  with 
the  mighty  Arkansas.  Crows  cawed  lazily  now  and  then 
from  the  tops  of  the  tallest  trees,  all  the  time  suspiciously 
eyeing  the  men  below  ;  and  from  the  neighbouring  forest 
came  innumerous  sounds,  which,  strangely  intermingled, 
made  up  a  bewildering  symphony,  fascinating  to  Alice, 
as  she  sat  on  a  rude  seat  near  the  house,  chatting  in  an 
undertone  with  Arch  Sixkiller,  who  was  ready  to  pros- 
trate himself  on  the  ground  before  her. 

The  old  Indian  half  persuaded  himself  that  Alice  — 
this  vision  of  beauty  and  eloquence  and  grace  and  charm 
which  had  floated  suddenly  into  the  Nation  on  the  day 
when  Pleasant  was  brought  home,  half  dead  from  the  cruel 
wound  which  the  vindictive  and  merciless  Bluelot  had 
given  him  —  was  at  least  partially  supernatural ;  that  her 
origin  and  her  arrival  could  never  be  satisfactorily  ac- 
counted for  on  ordinary  grounds  ;  and  that,  after  she  had 
accomplished  her  mission,  she  would  float  away  as  airily 
as  the  fleecy  cloud  which  he  saw  hovering  over  a  distant 
peak  in  the  mountain  range  beyond  the  wide  stream. 

Arch's  mind,  as  he  answered  Alice's  numerous  and 
sprightly  questions,  was  torn  by  doubt.  Mr.  and  Miss 
Harrelston  were  undoubtedly  in  the  Cherokee  Nation  for 
some  important  purpose  ;  their  mysterious  advent  on  the 


418  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

day  of  Pleasant's  encounter  with  the  Blnelot  had  been 
remarked,  and  speedily  bruited  abroad  among  the  dis- 
contented Indians  who  had  warned  Pleasant  that,  if  his 
answer  to  them  were  not  favourable,  they  would  "run 
him  out  of  the  country."  What  might  not  the  mad  pas- 
sions of  the  motley  crew  induce  them  to  do  on  this  day 
when  they  were  coming  for  their  answer,  now  that  they 
knew  that  the  very  banker  who  was  supposed  to  be  instru- 
mental, in  the  European  market,  in  prompting  the  sale 
of  the  bonds  which  were  to  serve  in  opening  their  cher- 
ished country  to  the  prying  and  ambitious  white  invader, 
had  boldty  come  to  pay  Pleasant  Merrinott  a  visit,  and 
had  brought  his  daughter  with  him?  Arch  was  mystified, 
and  distressed  because  he  was  morally  bound  to  join  the 
league  against  Pleasant.  But  this  latter  thing  he  was 
secretly  resolved  not  to  do ;  he  had  made  up  his  mind 
that,  if  it  came  to  fighting,  he  would  be  found  upon  his 
master's  side,  and  would  do  his  best  to  protect  this  fair 
young  maiden  who  had  ventured,  without  knowing  it, 
into  one  of  the  most  lawless  and  dangerous  corners  of  the 
new  world. 

On  Saturday  of  the  week  after  the  tragical  end  of 
Yera's  troubled  existence,  Mr.  Ilarrelston  and  Alice  had 
sailed  from  Havre  for  New  York.  Alice's  mother  gave 
her  plenty  of  advice,  but,  oddly  enough,  refrained  from 
mentioning  the  name  of  the  young  Indian,  probably  be- 
cause she  had  been  enlightened  on  certain  points  by  the 
good  banker,  and,  being  a  sensible  woman,  realized  the 
hopelessness  of  fighting  against  fate.  Mr.  Harrelston 
.and  liis  daughter  remained  but  one  day  in  New  York  — 
;a-day  during  which  the  banker  managed,  by  a  little  judi- 
cious telegraphing  to  Europe,  to  turn  a  few  honest  pen- 
nies, amounting  in  the  aggregate  to  one  hundred  and 
eighty  thousand  francs  —  after  which  they  set  out  at  once 
for  the  Indian  Territory. 


ALICE  TO   THE  KESCTJE.  419 

Alice  was  amazed  and  pleased  with  the  grandiose 
panorama  of  progress  in  the  country  as  their  train 
sped  across  the  flat  and  fat  lands  of  the  West,  flashed, 
over  the  Mississippi,  and  crawled  up  the  Missouri's  side  on 
a  railway  which  made  her  father  shake  his  head,  and  express 
same  doubts  as  to  the  wisdom  of  recommending  Western 
railway  investments  to  guileless  European  capitalists. 
On  and  on  they  sped,  past  miles  and  miles  of  yellow 
corn-fields  ;  past  rude  log  villages,  where  ruddy  and  half- 
naked  children  were  tumbling  over  each  other  in  the 
sun  ;  past  quaint  German  settlements  where  vineyards  and 
breweries  were  flourishing  ;  past  great  woodlands  and  over 
Indian  reservations,  where  the  blanketed  savages  came 
out  to  gaze  and  sometimes  to  jeer  at  the  train.  Then 
their  course  bent  Southward,  downward,  away  from  the 
mud,  the  mists  and  snows  of  the  North,  to  a  delicious 
land  where  leaves  were  still  green,  where  the  magnolia 
and  the  myrtle  showed  their  beauty,  and  where  the  in- 
vader man  had  not  everywhere  begun  to  ruin  nature. 

The  latter  half  of  the  journey  was  strangely  novel 
to  Alice,  and  had  it  not  been  for  the  intensity  of  her 
fear  that  Pleasant  might  have  already  done  some  rash 
deed,  might  have  allowed  the  unwholesome  doctrine  which 
had  been  grafted  upon  his  mind  to  bring  forth  terrible 
fruit,  she  would  have  been  singularly  happy.  She  felt  a 
certain  consolation  in  what  Vera  had  told  her  —  that 
Pleasant  was  no  longer  bound  to  undertake  the  American 
portion  of  the  conspiracy ;  yet  she  trembled  and  could 
not  sleep.  At  one  of  the  railway  stations,  some  distance 
from  the  frontier  of  the  Indian  Territory,  the  little  party 
entered  a  "  hotel  car  "  — a  vast  ambulatory  house,  species 
of  exaggerated  Pullman,  —  in  which  they  were  all ' '  as  com- 
fortable as  they  could  have  been  at  home,"  said  the  ebon 
youth  who  superintended  the  culinary  department  of  this 
rolling  domicile,  and  his  exaggeration  was  pardonable. 


420  THE   GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

Colonel  Cliff  had  accompanied  Alice  and  her  father 
from  Europe  to  America.  On  the  morning  after  Vera's 
death  he  had  visited  Alice  to  inform  her  that  he  had  not 
yet  been  able  to  discover  the  exact  whereabouts  of  the 
young  Indian.  He  was  of  course  greatly  surprised  and 
shocked  when  Alice  told  him  of  the  touching  and  painful 
scene  which  she  had  witnessed,  and  he  expressed  his  joy 
that  the  girl  had  indicated  Pleasant's  release  from  his 
obligation  to  the  conspiracy.  Alice  then,  with  a  certain 
dainty  modesty,  referred  him  to  her  father  for  details 
about  the  discovery  of  Pleasant's  refuge,  and  she  ex- 
pressed no  surprise  when  she  saw  the  Colonel's  tall  form 
on  the  deck  of  the  French  steamer  at  Havre. 

She  felt  a  pang  because  she  was  compelled  to  inflict 
pain  upon  the  self-sacrificing  and  worthy  man,  for  she 
was  not  slow  to  perceive  that  he  had  freely  offered  him- 
self as  a  sacrifice  upon  the  altar  of  his  affection  for  her.  It 
would  have  been  ungracious  to  refuse  or  slight  the  courtly 
attentions  which  he  lavished  upon  her  while  the  steamship 
buffeted  the  angry  waves,  and  when  they  were  fleeting 
across  the  lands  toward  the  Nation.  Colonel  Cliff  did  not 
hesitate  to  talk  freely  of  Pleasant  Merrinott,  and  it  was 
easy  to  see  that  he  had  relinquished  all  hope  of  ever  there- 
after appearing  as  a  possible  rival  to  the  eccentric  and 
erratic  young  Indian. 

Alice,  freed  from  the  doubts  of  Pleasant's  loyalty, 
speedily  recovered  her  animation  and  all  the  subtle 
splendour  of  her  beauty.  In  the  grave  which  her  father's 
tender  and  all-embracing  charity  had  provided  for  the 
misguided  Kussian  girl  had  been  buried  Alice's  last  fear 
that  Pleasant  himself  might  be  wrested  from  her  by  human 
agency.  All  that  she  feared  now  was  that  he  might  be 
irrevocably  wedded  to  an  idea  ;  to  his  eagerness  to  avenge 
himself  upon  that  society  by  which  he  believed  that  he 
had  been  so  bitterly  wronged. 


ALICE  TO  THE  EESCUE.  421 

When  the  "hotel  car,"  which  had  the  honours  of  a 
special  engine  and  a  particular  schedule,  furnished  to  Mr. 
Harrelston  by  the  railway  builders  who  were  eager  to 
obtain  his  influence  and  his  aid  in  Europe,  had  reached  a 
point  on  the  road  nearly  opposite  the  eminence  on  which 
stands  Fort  Gibson  in  the  Indian  Territory,  the  party 
was  visited  by  a  delegation  of  army  officers  to  whom 
Colonel  Cliff  had  sent  despatches,  and  who  were  delighted 
once  more  to  see  their  comrade  of  other  da}*s.  The  good 
Colonel  organized  an  observation  party,  escorted  by  the 
officers  and  twenty  stout  cavalrymen,  and  it  had  been  his 
kindly  intention  that  Alice  and  her  father  should,  without 
their  previous  knowledge,  suddenly  find  themselves  on  the 
Merrinott  farm,  and  that  they  might  then  and  there  meet 
the  Indian. 

"If  he  does  not  then  throw  away  his  silly  prejudices, 
and  make  love  in  earnest,  he  is  no  man,"  said  the  Colonel 
to  himself,  sadly. 

The  small  company  went  forth  upon  its  tour,  and 
chance  brought  it,  on  the  morning  when  Pleasant  en- 
countered the  Bluelot  brother,  to  the  very  wood  on  the 
edge  of  which  Pleasant  was  called  upon  to  win  the  victory 
over  himself,  to  remember  his  promise  to  Alice,  and  to 
refuse  vengeance  upon  the  enemy  whom  he  momentarily 
held  within  his  power.  Colonel  Cliff  and  two  or  three  of 
the  officers  were  a. little  ahead  of  Alice,  her  father,  and 
the  others,  and  reached  the  combatants  just  as  the 
Bluelot  fired  his  revolver  at  Pleasant,  and  the  young 
Indian  fell.  Ten  minutes  later  Alice  was  beside  the 
man  whom  she  loved,  and  she  believed  him  mortally 
wounded.  The  cry  which  burst  from  her  lips,  as  the 
senseless  Pleasant  was  borne  away,  completely  enlightened 
her  father,  if  he  had  required  any  enlightenment,  as  to  the 
depth  and  earnestness  of  his  daughter's  affection.  The 
whole  party  accompanied  the  wounded  man  to  the  Mem- 


422  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

nott  house,  and  from  that  moment  Mr.  Harrelston's  mind 
was  made  up. 

The  stunned  Bluelot  was  secured,  and  in  due  tune  was 
handed  over  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the  local  officer  of 
Cherokee  law.  But  on  the  very  first  night  of  his  incarce- 
ration he  managed  to  break  out  of  the  primitive  jail,  and, 
with  his  kindred,  who  were  hovering  in  the  neighbour- 
hood, made  for  a  secure  retreat,  intending  to  lie  hidden  for 
a  few  days,  until  he  heard  what  turn  Pleasant's  affairs  had 
taken.  If  the  young  Indian  did  not  die,  the  Bluelot  felt 
certain  that  he  would  be  expelled  by  the  angered  Indians, 
who  believed  themselves  deceived ;  and  if  he  died,  the 
lengfhy  feud  would  have  ended  in  the  triumph  of  Bluelots 
over  Merrinotts. 

Messengers  were  despatched  in  all  directions  for  skil- 
ful physicians,  and  among  those  who  arrived  was  one  from 
the  fort,  who  at  first  gave  up  hope  of  saving  Pleasant,  but 
on  the  morning  of  the  third  day  announced  that  there  were 
a  few  signs  of  encouragement.  The  bullet  from  the  Blue- 
lot's  revolver  had  made  an  ugly  wound  in  Pleasaut's  left 
side ;  it  had  been  aimed  at  his  heart,  but  the  would-be 
murderer  had  been  disturbed  in  time  to  spoil  the  accuracy 
of  his  aim. 

Pleasant  was  delirious,  and  raved  of  his  "duty," 
and  on  the  second  afternoon,  while  Alice  and  Mr.  Har- 
relston  were  standing  for  a  few  moments  at  his  bed- 
side, he  cried  out  in  piercing  tones  that  he  must  proceed 
at  once  to  Washington ;  that  he  had  a  vengeance  to 
accomplish  ;  that  he  would  be  too  late,  and  would  be  for 
ever  dishonoured.  Then  he  murmured  of  Vera,  of 
Bakounin  ;  and  many  an  incoherent  fragment  of  the  in- 
sidious and  terrible  doctrine  of  destruction  escaped  his 
lips.  The  army  doctor  was  amazed,  and  looked  inquiringly 
at  the  others.  The  tears  in  the  eyes  of  Alice  indicated 
that  she  partially  understood  the  cause  of  the  poor  youth's 


ALICE  TO  THE  RESCUE.  423 

ravings  ;  but  she  bowed  her  head  and  went  slowly  out  of 
the  room,  her  father  following  her. 

It  was  the  mental  anguish  which  the  doctors  feared 
more  than  the  physical  trouble.  Pleasant  had  an  Indian 
constitution  underlying  h\s  impressionable  and  sensitive 
nervous  organization  of  half-breed ;  and  the  body  would 
under  ordinary  conditions  have  been  proof  against  a  wound 
to  which  a  white  man  bred  in  a  city  would  have  suc- 
cumbed. But  the  constant  delirium  and  the  terrible  strain 
upon  the  young  man's  brain  was  alarming,  and  the  doctor 
from  the  fort  looked  grave  even  while  he  spoke  encoura- 
gingly. Every  one  took  utmost  pains  to  keep  from  Pleas- 
ant's  knowledge,  in  his  brief  lucid  intervals,  the  fact  of 
the  presence  of  Alice  and  her  father. 

The  Indian  mother  followed  the  movements  of  Alice 
greedily  with  her  coal-black  eyes,  but  she  manifested 
neither  resentment  nor  curiosity.  She  was  all  Indian  and 
impassive  in  her  demeanour.  She  felt  that  the  time  would 
soon  come  when  all  would  be  explained.  The  wide  rooms 
offered  the  visitors  were  comfortable,  and  Colonel  Cliff, 
Alice,  and  Mr.  Harrelston  settled  in  them  as  if  they  had 
come  to  spend  the  winter.  Meantime  the  "hotel  car" 
waited  on  a  siding,  and  small  mountains  of  mail  matter, 
forwarded  from  this  car,  at  which  they  were  left  by  the 
"through  train"  daity,  astonished  the  eyes  of  the  local 
postmaster,  who  himself  trudged  four  miles  each  morning 
to  bring  Mr.  Harrelston  his  letters  and  papers.  To  all 
inquiring  missives  the  banker  made  one  stereotyped  reply, 
that  he  was  "  seeing  the  country  and  taking  a  little  much 
needed  rest." 

And  now,  on  the  morning  of  the  fifth  day  after  Pleas- 
ant's  narrow  escape  from  instant  death,  Alice  sat  on  the 
old  bench  near  the  garden  fence,  waiting  patiently,  as  she 
had  waited  so  long,  for  Pleasant  to  recover  his  senses,  his 
health  —  and  then  !  She  knew  not  what  might  come  then, 


424  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

but  she  felt  that  she  had  acted  wisely  in  coming  with  her 
father ;  and  the  light  of  a  great  hope  filled  her  heart, 
although  the  doctors'  faces  were  dark.  As  she  was  talk- 
ing with  Arch,  she  observed  that  he  was  somewhat  ab- 
stracted, arid  although  his  brown  face  was  as  quiet  as  if 
carved  in  stone,  her  quick  womanly  perceptions  told  her 
that  he  was  agitated.  At  the  same  time  she  caught  sight 
of  the  motley  procession  of  Indians  approaching  on  horse- 
back, and  something  in  their  appearance  —  a  certain  grim- 
ness  and  concerted  severity  —  alarmed  her. 

"Arch,"  she  said,  playfully,  "why  do  you  not  wear 
the  —  the  national  dress,  like  that  Indian  in  blanket  and 
feathers  —  there  —  behind  all  the  others.  It  is  much 
prettier  than  the  slouch  hat,  the  homespun,  and  the  heavy 
boots  worn  by  white  folks.  Don't  you  think  so?  " 

The  old  man  frowned,  and  glanced  around  hastily.  "  I 
reckon  ye  better  move  away  a  bit,"  he  said.  "You 
wouldn't  wunt  to  see  them  fellers,  I  don't  guess." 

"Why  are  they  comiug  here?  Speak  out,  Arch,  and 
tell  me  who  they  are  !  " 

"They're  only  just  some  of  the  neighbours,"  gasped 
Arch,  who  felt  moved  by  a  sudden  impulse  to  tell  Alice 
all.  Perhaps  she  would  find  a  way  out  of  the  difficulty. 

"And  what  do  these  extraordinary  neighbours  want? 
They  ride  up  as  if  they  had  come  to  besiege  the 
house." 

Then  the  old  man  broke  down,  and  told  her  the  whole 
story.  She  listened  with  paling  face,  but  before  he  had 
finished  there  was  the  light  of  a  fine  inspiration  on  her 
brow. 

"Surely,"  she  stammered,  "they  would  not  dare  — 
they  would  not  be  so  cruel  as  to  take  any  harsh  measures 
against  Mr.  Merriuott  while  he  is  lying  at  the  point  of 
death.  And  nil  for  a  miserable  mistake !  They  have 
entirely  misunderstood  the  matter!  " 


ALICE  TO   THE  RESCUE.  425 

"  I  knowed  it !  "  cried  old  Arch,  who  was  rejoiced  at 
the  prospect  of  a  way  out  of  his  dilemma. 

' '  But  would  they  —  do  any  harm  ?  ' ' 

"  Wai,  they  might,"  answered  the  old  Cherokee, 
solemnly.  "They're  right  rough  'bout  these  yer  land 
matters." 

"  Very  well,  then.  I  must  talk  to  them  myself  !  No, 
no,  it  will  be  fun  !  I  wish  to  do  it !  "  she  added,  as  the 
old  man  made  a  deprecatory  gesture,  which  consisted  of 
putting  one  hand  straight  out  before  him.  And  she  had 
arisen  and  fluttered  away  from  the  seat  before  the  Chero- 
kee could  rub  his  eyes. 

Half  way  to  the  farmhouse-door  she  turned,  and  waving 
her  hand  to  Arch,  cried  merrily  — 

"  Get  them  ranged  in  a  line  down  by  the  open  field, 
and  make  them  wait  for  me.  But  don't  let  them  come 
near  the  house,  or  make  any  noise." 

Arch  decided  to  do  his  best  to  carry  out  her  commands, 
even  if  he  got  his  skull  cracked  for  his  pains. 


CHAPTER  XXXVm. 

THE   CLOCK    OF   DESTINY   STRIKES. 

STANISLAS  sat  before  the  piano,  looking  out  at  the  window 
upon  the  vines  and  flowers,  and  lazily  evoking  bits  of 
melody  from  the  instrument,  which  he  seemed  to  find  a 
certain  pleasure  in  caressing. 

He  was  at  Cannes,  as  the  guest  of  a  Russian  Princess 
somewhat  renowned  in  cosmopolitan  society  for  the 
splendidly  reckless  manner  in  which  she  disposed  of  a 
colossal  fortune,  as  well  as  for  her  sparkling  beauty, 
her  elaborate  toilettes,  and  the  elasticity  of  her  morals. 
She  had  a  husband  somewhere  —  but  he  rarely  appeared 
upon  the  scene,  and  left  the  Princess  to  the  full  en- 
joyment of  a  liberty  of  which  she  took  such  advantage 
as  her  caprices  dictated.  In  winter  she  held  a  species  of 
pseudo-court  at  Cannes,  to  which  charming  southern 
retreat  she  annually  migrated,  partly  because  of  an 
affection  of  the  throat,  and  partly  because  she  found  there 
the  company  of  which  she  was  most  fond.  Gifted  with 
fine  intellectual  powers,  she  succeeded  in  drawing  around 
her  a  .circle  which  comprised  men  and  women  of  talent 
and  exquisite  refinement;  she  could  entertain  two  score 
guests  iii  her  house  at  one  time ;  and  artists,  actors, 
musicians,  the  romancers  in  vogue,  and  the  soldiers  who 
were  the  darlings  of  the  moment,  considered  it  a  privilege 


THE   CLOCK  OF  DESTINY  STRIKES.  427 

to  be  admitted  into  the  magic  domain  which  lay  behind 
the  high  and  massive  wall  inclosing  her  garden  and  villa. 

It  was  to  this  place  that  Stanislas  had  hastened,  as  to 
a  refuge,  after  he  had  learned  of  the  death  of  Yera.  He 
had  not  even  had  the  courage  to  return  to  his  lodgings  in 
the  Boulevard  Malesherbes  to  see  the  dead  girl  who  had 
loved  him  so  passionately,  but  who  had  smothered  her  wild 
love,  and  treated  him  as  her  brother  in  the  revolutionary 
movement  which  he  had  now  caused  to  fail.  There  was 
one  visit  which  he  had  been  compelled  to  make,  and  that 
was  to  the  police  commissary  of  the  quarter,  who  sent  for 
him,  and  interrogated  him  so  closely  that  Stanislas  quite 
lost  his  temper,  and  explained  in  a  lofty  manner  that  he 
enjoyed  the  protection  of  important  personages.  The 
police  functionary  seemed  satisfied  that  there  was  nothing 
of  which  the  musician  could  be  accused.  The  attendant 
physician  and  Alice  and  the  small  girl-servant  had  all 
furnished  testimony  which  indicated  that  Vera  had  died 
from  natural  causes ;  yet  Stanislas  could  not  help  observ- 
ing that  the  commissary  seemed  to  allow  him  to  depart 
with  a  certain  regret,  and  but  ill  concealed  an  extraor- 
dinary repulsion  for  him. 

This  puzzled  the  musician.  He  was  shocked  and  a 
little  pained  at  Vera's  sudden  departure  into  the  unknown 
world  beyond.  But  it  was  his  artistic  temperament  rather 
than  his  heart  that  suffered.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  that 
he  was  in  truth  a  vile  traitor,  deserving  scorn  of  all 
honest  and  true  souls.  He  regarded  himself  in  the  light 
of  an  unfortunate  and  careless  person,  who  had  been 
entrapped  into  disagreeable  circumstances  which  had  now 
culminated  in  a  tragedy.  The  infinitely  pitiful  character 
of  Vera's  mistaken  self-sacrifice  did  not  present  itself  to 
his  mind  at  all ;  he  was  annoyed,  disturbed,  vexed,  that  he 
should  have  had  his  rdle  condemned  by  the  stern  girl  with 
the  sinister  purpose,  and  that  she  should  have  had  the 


428  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

bad  taste  to  mourn  over  his  defection,  and  to  choose  such 
an  inappropriate  time  to  die.  Had  she  lived,  and  forgiven 
him,  he  might  have  found  it  in  his  heart  to  bestow  a  few 
crumbs  of  love  upon  her  —  for  a  season. 

The  more  he  reflected  upon  the  matter,  the  more 
strongly  did  he  persuade  himself  that  he  had  acted 
magnanimously  toward  the  girl  in  shielding  her  from 
punishment,  and  he  congratulated  himself  upon  that  as 
an  excellent  sop  for  his  conscience,  if  that  monitor  should 
ever  become  troublesome.  He  was  glad  when  he  learned 
that  a  charitable  friend,  who  desired  that  his  name  might 
not  be  disclosed,  had  arranged  with  the  funeral  company 
of  the  city  for  Vera's  proper  burial  in  a  corner  of  a  small 
cemetery  outside  the  walls  of  Paris.  That  discreet 
benefactor  had  smoothed  away  all  difficulties,  so  that  poor 
Vera  slept  among  respectable  dead  folks  —  she,  the  Nihil- 
ist, the  destructionist,  whose  grave  might  bave  been  in 
the  ' '  common  ditches ' '  had  it  not  been  for  the  goodness 
of  heart  of  a  man  who  had  never  seen  her  alive. 

Stanislas  had  kept  no  servants  since  his  return  to 
Paris  in  the  autumn  ;  he  consequently  had  none  to  dis- 
miss. He  employed  a  valet,  gave  him  instructions  to 
pack  up  a  few  personal  effects,  and  to  close  the  apartment, 
—  leaving  poor  Vera's  small  possessions  under  seal  as  they 
had  been  placed  by  the  authorities  the  morning  after  her 
death  —  and  then  to  follow  him  to  Cannes.  The  story  of 
his  efficient  action  as  an  agent  of  the  Russian  Government 
in  unearthing  a  Nihilist  conspiracy  had  got  abroad,  and 
when  Stanislas  appeared  at  the  villa  of  the  Princess,  who 
was  a  warm  advocate  of  autocracy  and  its  continuance  in 
Russia,  he  received  a  cordial  welcome. 

A  few  carefully-worded  phrases,  dropped  from  time 
to  time,  served  to  show  the  lady  that  Stanislas  was  a 
bit  apprehensive  of  the  vengeance  of  the  conspirators  or 
their  friends,  and  she  assured  him  that  he  could  count 


THE  CLOCK  OF  DESTINY  STRIKES.  429 

on  perfect  safety  so  long  as  he  remained  her  guest. 
Knowing  that  the  local  police  were  zealous  in  protecting 
the  Princess  from  annoyance,  he  regained  confidence  a 
trifle,  and  at  the  end  of  a  few  days  the  image  of  old 
Ignatius  no  longer  haunted  him.  A  letter  from  a  diplo- 
matic friend  in  Paris  informed  him  that  the  aged  Jew 
had  been  arrested  in  Switzerland,  but  a  second  epistle 
announced  that  this  was  an  error,  and  that  the  French 
police  were  much  mortified  at  being  compelled  to  confess 
that  the  ancient  plotter  had  slipped  through  their  hands. 
This  last  missive  caused  a  most  disagreeable  sensation  in 
the  mind  of  Stanislas. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  musician  had  suffered 
in  spirits,  or  had  felt  his  dignity  ruffled,  by  the  rebuff 
which  he  had  received  at  the  hands  of  the  innocent  and 
honest  Caro.  He  did  not  appreciate  the  depths  of  his  own 
insincerity  —  to  call  it  by  no  harsher  name  —  nor  was  he 
unselfish  enough  to  regret  that  he  had  left  a  deep  wound 
in  the  young  girl's  heart.  Himself  a  creature  of  impulse,' 
utterly  unchecked  by  principle,  and  hindered  by  no  feeling 
of  responsibility  to  that  society  on  the  edges  of.  which  he 
hovered,  as  a  brilliant  bird  of  song  flits  along  the  border 
of  a  garden  filled  with  precious  flowers  —  it  did  not  seem 
to  him  that  he  had  done  any  thing  unnatural  or  dishonest 
in  tempting  Caro  to  a  flight  which  could  have  ended  only 
in  shame  for  her,  or  at  least  in  false  appearance  which 
would  have  done  her  irreparable  harm. 

In  his  intellectual  nature  every  thing  was  well  ordered, 
noble,  rich  with  accomplishment,  harmonious  and  impres- 
sive ;  in  his  moral  nature  disorder  reigned  supreme.  He 
had  no  rule  of  conduct,  nor  would  he  have  been  likely  to 
admit  the  possibility  of  establishing  one.  He  had  so  long 
been  accustomed  to  mistake  the  stormy  appeal  of  passion 
for  a  stern  decree  of  fate  that  he  bowed  before  it.  The 
romance  of  life  was  doubled  for  him  by  his  belief  that  he 


430  THE  GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

must  obey  his  impulses  —  that  they  were  voices  of  nature 
calling  him  to  the  f  ulfillment  of  his  destiny.  No  matter  if 
those  he  came  in  contact  with  were  ruined  ;  that  he  did  not 
take  into  consideration  as  a  serious  calamity,  ascribing  it 
to  some  fatal  weakness  in  their  mental  and  physical  or- 
ganisms for  which  he  was  in  no  wise  responsible. 

The  firm  opposition  which  the  American  girl  had  made 
to  his  mad  project,  at  a  moment  when  she  was  crushed 
beneath  a  humiliating  failure  in  her  art,  and  when  her  love 
for  him  had  been  increased  tenfold  by  the  sympathy  which 
she  bestowed  on  him  in  his  dangerous  situation  —  this 
opposition,  coupled  with  an  indignation  so  spontaneous 
and  withering,  had  amazed  him.  He  had  thought  that  Caro 
would  sacrifice  any  thing  and  every  thing  for  him  ;  but  at 
the  very  slightest  breath  of  license,  she  shrank  away  from 
him  as  if  his  touch  were  contaminating.  What  was  this 
type  of  woman  to  which  he  was  unaccustomed  ?  Evidently 
the  feminine  natures  in  the  New  World  were  different  from 
those  in  the  Old ;  were  less  impulsive ;  were,  perhaps, 
better  balanced;  —  at  least,  they  were  to  him  a  mystery. 
And  he  had  almost  determined  to  puzzle  his  brains  no  more 
about  it,  when  the  Princess  one  dajr  brought  him  word 
that  Miss  Caro  Merlin  and  her  mother  had  taken  modest 
apartments  in  a  quiet  corner  of  Cannes. 

The  Princess  had  been  enlightened  as  to  Miss  Merlin's 
identity  with  the  unlucky  girl  who  had  fainted  at  La 
Vauge's  concert,  by  a  friend  who  was  present  on  that 
exciting  occasion,  and  who  had  known  that  Stanislas 
professed  an  interest  in  the  American  maiden's  welfare. 
So  the  hostess  told  Stanislas,  in  the  hope  that  some  ro- 
mance might  be  hidden  away  beneath  this  acquaintance 
of  the  distinguished  pianist  with  the  fair  aspirant  from 
beyond  the  Atlantic,  and  that  he  would  tell  the  story. 

Stanislas  pricked  up  his  ears  when  he  heard  that 
Caro  was  in  the  neighbourhood.  lie  was  vain  enough  to 


THE  CLOCK   OF   DESTINY   STUDIES.  431 

fancy  that  the  poor  child  had  heard  of  his  retreat,  aud  had 
determined  to  make  the  first  advance  toward  reconciliation 
by  coming  nearer  him.  He  felt  flattered,  and  touched, 
and  made  up  his  mind  to  call  upon  Caro  and  her  mother 
at  an  early  day ;  to  insist  upon  seeing  them ;  to  assert 
that,  after  a  proper  explanation,  they  could  not  refuse  to 
pardon  him  ;  and  —  if  worst  came  to  worst  —  to  attribute 
his  conduct  to  an  inexplicable  impulse  born  of  an  artistic 
temperament.  It  was  with  the  air  of  a  general  about  to 
return  to  a  field  where  he  had  been  defeated,  but  resolved 
this  time  to  conquer,  that  he  mused  on  the  best  means  of 
resuming  relations  with  the  brave  little  singer. 

Meantime  Caro  and  her  mother  had  not  the  remotest 
idea  that  Stanislas  was  near  them.  If  they  had  suspected 
his  presence  at  the  handsome  villa  on  the  hill  not  far 
from  their  lodgings,  they  would  have  begun  their  prep- 
arations for  departure.  Mrs.  Merlin  had  brought  her 
daughter  to  Cannes  for  a  season  of  absolute  repose,  by 
direction  of  one  of  the  best  American  plrysicians  in  Paris. 
Caro  had  been  seriously  ill  —  but  for  a  few  days  only. 
"With  Spartan  firmness  she  had  pulled  from  the  wound  the 
arrow  with  which  Stanislas  had  pierced  her  spirit,  and  yet 
she  had  not  succumbed.  She  had  had  a  bitter  and  ter- 
rible deception ;  it  had  sobered,  steadied,  and  refined 
her;  she  was  more  beautiful,  more  quiet,  more . resolved 
than  ever,  when,  after  her  short  but  sharp  illness,  she 
accompanied  her  patient  mother  in  the  retreat  from  the 
harsh  Paris  winter  to  the  beautiful  city  where  the  roses 
bloom  in  December,  and  where  the  sun  shines  with 
generous  fervour  in  midwinter.  Of  Stanislas  she  rarely 
spoke,  and  it  was  her  wish  that  his  name  should  not  be 
mentioned  in  her  presence.  Her  friends  had  succeeded  in 
persuading  her  that  she  had  in  no  wise  injured  her  career 
by  her  unfortunate  fainting 'fit  at  the  concert;  that  that 
was  an  accident  beyond  her  control ;  and  that  in  spring, 


432  THE  GENTLE    SAVAGE. 

when  she  had  recovered  strength,  she  would  do  well  to 
make  another  trial.  Melari  was  working  for  her.  There 
were  moments  when  she  felt  as  if  the  battle  were  not  lost, 

after  all. 

*  *  *  *  #  * 

The  musician  fell  to  musing  anew  about  Caro,  as  he 
sat  in  the  Princess's  odd  and  elegant  Japanese  pavilion, 
erected  in  a  corner  of  the  garden,  and  led  up  to  by  a  flight 
of  broad,  handsome  marble  steps.  This  pavilion  was  the 
resort  of  the  guests  at  the  villa  when  they  took  tea  and 
music  together  in  the  long  dreamy  afternoons  ;  but  toward 
evening  and  at  night  it  was  usually  deserted.  Stanislas 
was  so  absorbed  in  his  reverie  that  he  did  not  notice  the 
quick  approach  of  the  soft  southern  twilight,  and  when 
he  at  last  came  out  of  his  abstraction  it  was  quite  dark 
within  the  pavilion.  Outside  he  could  dimly  distinguish 
the  serpentine  bodies  of  the  ancient  vines  straggling  over 
the  wall ;  he  noted  a  few  night  birds  flying  swiftly  in 
circles  ;  and  he  heard  some  peasants  in  the  street  below 
talking  patois  in  a  high  pitched  key,  following  their  re- 
marks with  loud  and  prolonged  laughter. 

He  glanced  nervously  about  him,  and  arose  from  the 
piano.  Since  his  defection  from  the  ranks  of  the  Nihilist 
conspirators  he  was  averse  to  being  alone  after  dark.  A 
nameless  terror  now  seized  upon  him,  and  he  resolved  to 
get  back  to  the  villa  speedily.  Its  white  walls  gleamed 
invitingly  among  the  foliage  some  hundreds,  of  yards 
away.  But,  when  he  started  to  go  down  the  stairs,  he 
trembled,  and  drew  back  in  such  a  timid  manner  that  -he 
blushed  for  himself.  After  standing  irresolutely,  for 
some  moments,  at  the  door,  he  went  back  to  the  piano, 
and  sat  down  again.  There  was  no  sound  in  the  pretty 
little  room,  which  was  richly  furnished  with  Japanese 
screens,  and  vases,  bronze  images  of  birds  and  beasts 
and  gods  and  goddesses. 


THE  CLOCK  OF   DESTINY   STRIKES.  433 

Presently  Stanislas  determined  to  make  some  music, 
hoping  to  allay  his  fears.  But  it  seemed  to  him  that  he 
could  hear  the  beating  of  his  own  heart  above  every  other 
sound  as  he  played  on  and  on,  now  improvising,  now 
executing  with  wonderful  delicacy  a  Hungarian  waltz  or 
martial  march,  now  rendering  with  exquisite  sweetness 
and  fidelity  a  bit  from  one  of  Beethoven's  sonatas.  By- 
aud-by  the  music  reassured  him ;  he  lost  himself  in  it ; 
so  that  he  was  not  alarmed  when  he  heard  steps  on  the 
marble  stairs  outside,  and  a  hand  on  the  wooden  latch  of 
the  pretty  Japanese  door.  It  seemed  to  him  but  natural 
that  one  of  the  servants  should  have  come  to  warn  him 
that  it  was  time  to  dress  for  dinner. 

The  steps  came  nearer.  Stanislas  turned,  and  all  the 
blood  in  his  body  seemed  frozen  for  a  moment,  for  he  saw 
an  old  man,  with  a  scarred  and  wrinkled  face,  and  with  a 
long  white  beard,  standing  before  him.  At  last !  There 
was  then  no  escape  !  He  passed  his  hand  over  his  fore- 
head, and  opened  his  eyes  widely,  hoping  that  he  might 
find  himself  the  victim  of  an  optical  illusion.  But  this 
hope  vanished,  for  the  figure  spoke,  and  it  said,  in  Polish, 
and  with  the  unmistakable  accent  of  old  Ignatius  — 

"The  clock  of  destiny  strikes  once  to-day.  When  it 
strikes  again,  the  new  world  will  arise  on  the  ruins  of  the 
old.  But  first  it  strikes  to  destroy  a  traitor !  " 

Stanislas  sank  back,  breathless,  half  fainting ;  then, 
swiftly  recovering  himself,  he  arose  and  resolved  to  rush 
at  Ignatius.  But  Ignatius  was  no  longer  there.  Again 
came  the  vague  hope  that  it  might  all  be  a  dream  —  the 
work  of  a  heated  fancy,  —  a  terror-evoked  image.  He 
must  have  lights !  The  garden  must  be  searched !  He 
moved  unsteadily  toward  the  outer  door. 

But  at  that  instant  there  was  a  loud  explosion,  and  the 
stone  floor  of  the  pavilion  was  wrenched  and  torn  into 
thousands  of  fragments,  and  the  bronzes  and  the  richly 


434  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

upholstered  chairs  and  the  piano  disappeared.  Flames 
seized  upon  the  light  wood-work ;  a  suffocating  odour 
filled  the  air ;  a  smoke  arose ;  and  when  the  frightened 
attendants  of  the  Princess  came  running  to  the  scene  of 
the  disaster,  the  pavilion  was  burning  rapidly.  Underneath 
a  mass  of  stone  and  wood  lay  Stanislas,  dead,  and  with 
his  beautiful  head  bruised  into  a  grotesque  shape.  Dead ! 

At  the  first  stroke  of  the  clock  of  destiny ! 

****** 

Caro  saw  the  flames  from  her  window,  but  happily 
knew  nothing  of  the  cause  of  the  conflagration  until  many 
days  thereafter.  It  seemed  to  her  that  night,  however, 
as  if  the  hold  that  Stanislas  had  so  long  had  upon  her 
heart  finally  relaxed  just  as  the  fire  showed  its  light  against 
the  sky. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

CALM   AFTEK   STORM. 

' '  THINK  that  it  was  but  a  dream  —  a  harsh  and  cruel 
dream,"  said  Alice,  gently. 

She  was  sitting  beside  the  great  chair  covered  with  the 
dressed  skins  of  animals  on  which  Pleasant  reclined,  and 
from  time  to  time  the  young  Indian  laid  his  hand  tenderly 
on  her  brow,  with  a  caress  that  had  in  it  all  the  earnestness 
of  a  lover,  but  little  of  his  old  impetuousness.  Pleasant 
was  at  rest  now  ;  his  life  had  become  a  joy  —  a  blessing ; 
and  his  future  lay  bright  before  him.  Yet  he  felt  as  if 
he  had  emerged,  bruised  and  fatigued,  from  a  terrible 
struggle.  With  the  calm  now  so  enchanting  had  come 
a  physical  and  mental  weakness  which  astonished  him. 
There  were  moments  when  he  was  still  a  trifle  uncertain 
as  to  his  own  identity ;  when  he  felt  like  touching  Alice 
to  prove  to  his  senses  that  she  were  really  no  apparition. 
He  contemplated  the  spectacle  of  his  return  into  the 
normal  state  of  things  in  the  world  much  as  mariners,  who 
have  outridden  a  storm  in  which  they  fully  expected  to 
perish,  look  at  each  other  and  at  their  good  ship,  when 
by  some  singular  chance  they  come  safely  into  port. 

Alice  had  been  telling  him  of  the  death  of  Vera,  and 
how  he  was  consequently  freed  from  the  terrible  obligation 
which  he  had  incurred.  There  was  a  strange  tremor  in 

435 


436  THE  GENTLE  SAVAGE. 

the  girl's  voice  as  she  recited,  rapidly,  and  in  picturesque 
fashion,  the  events  which  had  occurred  after  the  Indian's 
sudden  departure  from  Paris.  Pleasant  listened,  now  and 
then  endeavouring  to  dispel  a  host  of  confused  images 
assembling  before  his  vision. 

Vera  dead !  The  conspiracy  at  an  end  —  unsuccessful ! 
The  disciples  of  Bakounin  dispersed !  The  world  was 
not  to  crumble  into  ruins,  then — society  was  not  to  be 
destroyed ;  the  new  world  of  which  they  had  seen  such 
grandiose  visions  was  not  to  spring,  a  blessed  Atlantis, 
a  bewitching  Arcadia,  from  the  chaos  of  the  ancient 
one  !  And  he  —  Pleasant  Merrinott  —  representative  of 
a  wronged  and  insulted  and  betrayed  race  —  he  was  not 
to  be  called  on  to  sacrifice  his  life  in  order  that  society 
might  be  punished  for  its  injustices,  its  gross  neglect  ?  It 
seemed,  indeed,  as  if  it  had  all  been  a  dream. 

A  deeper  colour  came  into  his  swarthy  cheeks  as  he 
remembered  how  he  had  unwittingly  tortured  poor  Alice  ; 
how  he  had  trifled  with  the  priceless  gift  of  her  love,  her 
devotion  ;  how  he  had  cast  away  her  affection  because  it 
interfered  with  his  miserable  pride  of  race ;  and  how 
unwaveringly  true  to  him  she  had  been  despite  his  follies, 
his  frailties,  and  his  caprices.  His  distress  of  mind  was 
so  great,  as  he  reviewed  his  mistakes,  and  the  dangers  into 
which  he  had  almost  wilfully  thrust  himself,  that  a  low 
groan  escaped  his  lips. 

The  girl  sprang  up  hastily,  with  paling  face.  "  You  are 
suffering  again,"  she  said,  with  that  exquisite  sympathy 
in  her  voice  which  women  can  manifest  only  for  the  men 
they  love.  "  I  was  wrong  to  tell  you  all  these  dreadful 
things  to-day.  Oh  !  I  shall  never  forgive  myself !  Would 
it  not  be  best  for  you  to  return  to  your  room  and  try  to 
rest?" 

Pleasant' s  right  hand  strayed  to  that  of  Alice,  and  for 
the  first  time  since  liis  illness  he  felt  a  bit  of  his  old 


CALM  AFTER   STORM.  437 

strength  returning.  He  drew  the  girl  slowly  back  to  his 
side,  and  kissed  her,  reverently,  on  her  forehead. 

"  No,  Alice,"  he  said.  "  I  am  at  rest,  here  with  you  ; 
I  am  no  longer  ill ;  my  wound  will  heal ;  I  shall  be  strong 
again  —  strong  to  love  you,  and  to  prove  my  repentance. 
I  have  been  —  a  dreamer ;  but  I  will  be  so  no  more.  Can 
you  forgive  me?" 

"  There  is  nothing  to  forgive,"  she  said,  looking  up 
with  glistening  eyes  into  his  face.  And  for  an  instant 
the  youth  felt  that  the  tears  of  love  were  sweeter  than  its 
smiles. 

The  lovers  were  in  the  large  front  room  of  the  Merrinott 
farm-house.  The  door  was  open,  and  a  gentle  breeze 
strayed  in  to  stir  the  ashes  in  the  huge  fireplace,  and  the 
festoons  of  evergreen  on  the  deer's  horns  from  which 
guns  and  hunter's  trappings  were  suspended.  Brilliant 
sunshine  flooded  the  broad,  open  spaces  between  the  belt 
of  forest  and  the  farm ;  birds  sang  in  the  trees  as  merrily 
as  if  it  were  August ;  and  the  roar  of  the  river  in  the 
distance  was  imposing.  Pleasant  had  besought  Alice  to 
tell  him  how  it  happened  that  Mr.  Harrelston  had  so 
suddenby  determined  to  visit  the  Nation,  and  she  had  an- 
swered vaguely  that  she  believed  it  "  had  some  reference 
to  the  railroad  matter." 

The  Indian  put  on  his  scowl,  for  the  "  railroad  matter  " 
awakened  numerous  painful  recollections.  "  I  believe," 
he  said,  "  that  in  my  craziness  about  this  Bakounin  busi- 
ness "  (he  had  confessed  to  her  his  complete  temporary 
infatuation  with  it),  "the  railroad  affairs,  the  bonds,  the 
rights  of  the  Indians,  and  everything  of  that  sort,  had 
vanished  from  my  mind.  I  have  been  more  stupid  than 
I  supposed  it  possible  to  be." 

Presently  he  looked  up,  still  with  bewildered  air,  and 
said,  "  Tell  me  —  how  many  days  is  it  since  —  since  I  had 
my  encounter  with  the  Bluelot?  " 


438  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

"  Almost  twenty." 

' '  Twenty  days  ?  Then  they  have  not  been  here  ?  What 
can  it  mean?  While  I  have  been  in  bed  —  have  there 
been  no  —  no  Indians  here  to  see  me  ?  I  might  as  well 
tell  you  that  I  have  asked  the  same  question  of  my 
mother  and  of  Arch  Sixkiller  this  morning,  and  that  they 
both  avoided  answering  it  in  a  manner  which  was  right 
exasperating  ;  they  left  the  room  powerful  quick.  Now, 
Alice,  tell  me  the  truth,  please." 

"Yes,  said  the  girl,  releasing  her  hand,  not  without 
difficulty,  from  her  lover's  grasp,  "there  were  some  In- 
dians here  to  see  you  the  other  day  —  a  great  many  of 
them,  in  fact.  It  was  of  course  impossible  for  them  to 
visit  you  ;  so  Arch  and  I " 

"When  was  it  ?  " 

"  It  was  the  fifth  or  sixth  day  after  you  were  wounded." 

"  The  time  appointed  !  "  whispered  Pleasant  to  himself. 
"  And  they  left  no  message  —  nothing  for  me?  " 

Alice  had  arisen,  and  her  eyes  sparkled  with  merri- 
ment, while  blushes  stole  into  her  cheeks.  "  Since  you 
must  know,  exacting  invalid,"  she  said,  "I  will  tell 
you  how  they  came.  But  first  you  must  promise  to  lie 
back  in  that  chair  and  to  remain  motionless.  Remember 
what  the  doctor  said  about  sudden  movements.  Do  you 
promise?  " 

Pleasant  promised,  and  assumed  the  impassibility  of  a 
bronze  statue,  although  he  was  fiercely  agitated  within. 

' '  They  all  came  —  the  most  ridiculous  collection  of 
people  I  ever  saw,"  —  said  Alice,  laughing,  "  one  morning 
while  Arch  and  I  were  talking  in  the  garden.  Some  of 
them  looked  like  Italian  brigands,  some  like  French  peas- 
nuts,  and  some  like  old  women  with  blackened  faces, 
mid  with  feathers  in  their  hair  !  There  was  one  venerable 
party  who  had  something  on  his  head  that  resembled  a 
Hten--pan  with  a  brace  of  rabbits  in  it.  Forgive  me  for 


CALM  AFTER   STORM.  439 

being  merry  at  the  expense  of  your  countrymen,  but  it 
was  too  amusing !  They  ranged  themselves  in  a  row  iu 
front  of  the  house,  and  with  their  guns  and  pistols  they 
looked  very  ferocious,  I  assure  you.  But  did  you  not 
promise  to  lie  still  ?  ' ' 

"Well,  what  did  they  say?"  queried  the  young  Indian 
impatiently. 

The  girl's  face  grew  grave  and  pale.  "  "What  did  they 
say?"  she  repeated.  "I  don't  think  I  understood  it 
all." 

She  stepped  back  from  Pleasant' s  side  as  she  heard 
brisk  footsteps  at  the  entrance  ;  and,  looking  around,  she 
saw  a  tall  figure  in  the  doorway. 

"Here  comes  Colonel  Cliff  from  his  shooting  excursion," 
she  said.  "Perhaps  he  can  tell  you  what  the  Indians 
wanted."  She  looked  steadfastly  at  the  good  Colonel  a 
moment,  and  placed  her  fingers  on  her  lips  as  if  enjoining 
him  to  maintain  silence  on  some  particular  topic. 

The  Colonel  smiled,  a  little  wearily,  and  looked,  first 
at  Pleasant,  then  at  the  girl,  as  if  he  were  anxious  to  read 
their  secret  thoughts.  As  he  stepped  forward  to  the  fire- 
place to  lay  his  gun  across  the  deer's  horns,  Alice  slipped 
noiselessly  out  of  the  room. 

"Stronger  to-day,  Pleasant?"  said  Colonel  Cliff, 
approaching  the  young  man,  and  laying  one  hand  gently 
upon  his  shoulder.  "  You  look  quite  strong  and  happy. 
Ah !  the  young  lady  has  vanished !  I  understand.  Do 
you  know,  Mr.  Merrinott,  that  you  are  the  luckiest  of 
men?" 

"  Why  do  you  say  that,  Colonel?  "  queried  the  Indian, 
scowling,  in  spite  of  his  determination  to  be  amiable  to 
the  man  whom  he  was  daily  learning  to  respect  and  love. 
"You  look  mysterious.  Ah! — Miss  Harrelston  —  is 
mysterious  also.  What  is  all  this  mystery  about?  Vou 
must  each  account  to  me." 


440  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

"  Now  don't  endanger  your  existence,  Pleasant,  by 
moving  in  that  violent  fashion,  and  glaring  after  Miss 
Harrelston .  She  has  gone,  and  I  am  not  sorry,  for  in  her 
absence  I  propose  to  disobey  her  injunction,  and  to  tell 
you  something  which  I  think  you  should  know." 

"  Yes ;  tell  me  why  you  think  me  a  lucky  man,"  said 
Pleasant,  eagerly. 

"Very  well.  Don't  interrupt,  and  please  don't  get 
angry.  Mr.  Merrinott,  the  young  girl  who  has  just  left 
us  has  saved  your  life  —  and  your  honour.  I  respectfully 
submit  that  you  are  a  lucky  man  to  have  such  a  defender." 

"  Go  on  — please  go  on,"  murmured  Pleasant,  vaguely 
conscious  that  he  was  now  to  hear  about  the  visit  of  the 
Indian  delegation. 

"  I  am  bound  to  inform  you,  Mr.  Pleasant  Merrinott, 
citizen  of  the  Cherokee  Nation,"  continued  the  Colonel, 
smiling,  "  that  your  worthy  fellow-citizens  had  conceived 
a  violent  prejudice  against  you.  Like  most  benefactors, 
it  was  your  lot  to  be  misunderstood.  This  delegation  of 
Indians  had  come  to  expel  you  from  your  house  and  from 
your  Nation,  because  they  believed  you  had  been  a  traitor 
to  the  mission  which  they  had  placed  in  your  hands. 
They  had  called  on  you  for  an  explanation  —  to  be  given 
on  the  Qfth  day  after  their  first  visit  to  you " 

"Yes  — yes!" 

—  "  Meantime,  no  answer  had  been  vouchsafed  by  his 
haughty  Highness  Pleasant  Merrinott,  and  strange  people 
—  even  the  banker  whom  Mr.  Merrinott  had  .been  to  Paris 
to  see  —  had  arrived  at  the  Merrinott  farm.  The  Indians 
were  enraged.  They  fancied  that  their  lands  were  in 
danger ;  that  the  banker,  and  possibty  the  banker's 
daughter,  were  boldly  plotting  in  their  midst  to  steal 
their  fat  acres.  They  refused  to  believe  that  you  had 
been  dangerously  wounded  by  the  Bluelot,  and  declared 
that  that  was  a  pretext  to  avoid  meeting  them  face  to  face. 


CALM  AFTER   STOEM.  441 

Some  of  them  had  gone  so  far  as  to  move  toward  the 
house,  with  the  intention  of  finding  you." 

Pleasant's  gaze  wandered  to  his  "Winchester  rule.  The 
Colonel  observed  this. 

"  Exactly,"  he  said.  "  If  you  had  been  well,  you  would 
have  indulged  in  a  shooting  match  with  the  Indians,  and  you 
would  infallibly  have  been  killed.  But  you  were  in  bed  — 
unconscious  —  and  so  —  and  so  —  a  young  and  lovely  girl 
was  allowed  to  intervene  in  your  behalf,  and  to  save  the 
situation.  It  was  fine  !  Mr.  Harrelston  and  I  happened 
to  be  snugly  ensconced  in  a  small  thicket,  from  which  we 
could  see  and  hear  everything ;  and  when  the  good  banker 
saw  his  daughter  standing  on  a  chair,  and  making  a  speech 
to  that  grim  Indian  delegation ' ' 

"She!  Alice!  A  speech  !  To  that  wild  pack  of  half- 
breeds  !  " 

"Oh,  they  were  not  remarkably  wild,  after  she  began 
to  talk.  She  made  them  a  regular  address.  Most  of  them 
understood  English,  and  she  made  Arch  Sixkiller  trans- 
late to  the  rest.  She  told  them  that  they  had  been 
entirely  mistaken  ;  that,  instead  of  being  a  traitor  to  them, 
you  were  their  faithful  friend  and  sovereign  protector ; 
that,  rather  than  unsuccessful,  you  had  been  successful  in 
the  highest  degree  ;  that,  because  of  your  representations  — 
and  all  this  time  she  was  making  plenty  of  gestures  —  the 
distinguished  banker,  Mr.  Harrelston,  had  come  over  from 
Paris  to  investigate  the  matter  of  the  bonds  and  the  land 
grants ;  and  that,  because  of  your  protest,  and  after  a 
careful  examination,  Mr.  Harrelston  had  decided  not  to 
take  any  part  in  the  sale  of  the  railway  bonds  in  question, 
either  in  Europe  or  anywhere  else  !  '  In  fact,  gentlemen,' 
she  said,  '  Mr.  Merrinott's  mission  has  been,  as  you  see, 
so  thorough  a  success  that  you  owe  him  a  vote  of  thanks, 
or  an  apology  for  having  doubted  him,  and  you  should  at 
once  send  him  back  to  Europe  as  your  agent,  for  no  one 


442  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

else  can  do  you  such  good  service. '  Then  she  jumped  down 
from  the  chair,  and  went  and  shook  hands  with  every  one 
of  them.  And  then  —  and  then  Arch  gave  them  some 
whiskey  all  round.  All  the  old  black  things  with  feathers 
in  their  hair  said  l  Ugh  ! '  and  smiled." 

Pleasant  closed  his  eyes.  He  would  not  have  liked  the 
Colonel  to  know  that  there  were  tears  in  them. 

"  The  next  thing  that  Miss  Harrelston  did,"  continued 
Colonel  Cliff,  "was  to  draw  up  a  paper,  appointing  you 
anew  as  the  Indians'  trusted  delegate  in  Europe.  "When 
this  was  finished,  Mr.  Harrelston  and  your  humble  servant 
could  remain  hidden  no  longer.  We  had  to  come  out  and 
congratulate  Alice  —  although  I  think  Mr.  Harrelston  was 
rather  annoyed,  you  know.  And,  furthermore,  we  had  to 
shake  hands  with  all  the  Indians.  In  fact,  they  who  came 
for  war  and  bloodshed,  went  away  as  peacefully  as  lambs. 
And  it  was  that  noble  girl  who  managed  it  all !  "  The 
Colonel's  voice  grew  husky.  "  Yes,  Pleasant,  you  are  a 
lucky  man." 

Pleasant  extended  his  hand  feebly.  "It  was  good  of 
you  to  tell  me  this,"  he  said.  "  I  do  not  deserve  such  luck 
—  such  happiness." 

"  Nonsense,  man  ;  you  merit  it  all."  His  face  became 
pallid.  "You  have  found  a  treasure,  my  boy,"  he  said. 
Then  he  turned  away  from  the  young  Indian,  and  after 
pacing  to  and  fro  a  little  while,  he  went  out. 

An  hour  afterwards  Alice  stole  in,  hoping  to  find 
Pleasant  asleep.  But  his  lustrous  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
her  as  she  approached  him. 

"Will  you  —  will  you  show  me  my  appointment  —  my 
new  commission  as  agent  ?  "  he  asked. 

Alice  grew  rosy.  "  Colonel  Glut  is  a  monster,"  she  said. 
"  He  has  betrayed  me." 

"Oh,  Alice!" 

The  girl  made  an  odd  little  gesture,  expressive  of  anger  at 


CALM  AFTER   STORM.  443 

the  Colonel,  and  took  from  her  pocket  a  small  paper  which 
she  held  out  to  her  lover.  Pleasant  seized  it  and  read  it 
eagerly.  A  glad  surprise  lit  up  his  face  as  he  cried  — 

""Why,  you  say  here  that  Mr.  Harrelston  has  decided 
to  withdraw  entirely  from  this  railroad  matter.  Entirely  ! 
I  knew  he  would  not  do  anything  that  was  unjust,  but  to 
withdraw  fully  is  an  odd  thing  for  a  business  man  who 
had  engaged  in  an  enterprise  to  do.  I  want  to  thank 
him,  to  tell  him  how  much  I  appreciate  his  delicacy,  for 
our  Indian  prejudices  against  railroads  are  right  strong." 

Alice  looked  confused,  and  turned  her  face  away. 
"  Well,"  she  said,  naively,  "  to  be  strictly  accurate,  I  must 
tell  you  that  papa  had  not,  at  the  time  of  my  speech,  said  in 
so  many  words  that  he  would  give  up  all  participation  in 
the  matter.  But  he  had  told  me  before  leaving  Paris  that 
this  year  he  would  give  me  the  fulfilment  of  any  wish  that 
I  might  express,  for  my  New  Year's  present,  you  know. 
Any  wish  whatsoever,  within  human  scope,  he  had  said. 
So  I  resolved  to  ask  him  to  withdraw  from  this  rail- 
road affair,  in  accordance  with  your  protest,  and,  as  I 
knew  he  would  not  refuse  me,  I  told  the  Indians  in  my 
speech  that  they  might  consider  it  done." 

' '  What  did  your  father  say  ? ' ' 

The  girl  laughed  merrily.  "  When  he  read  the  paper, 
he  grumbled  a  little,  but  very  gently,  and  —  and  —  he 
was  kind  enough  to  say  that  the  heart  was  sometimes 
a  safer  guide  than  the  head  in  matters  of  business ;  and 
that  perhaps  this  was  such  a  case.  So  he  fulfilled  his 
promise  —  and  —  and But  you  are  excited ! ' ' 

"  Darling,"  said  Pleasant,  "  you  have  saved  my  honour, 
my  reputation !  You  have  done  more :  you  have  saved 
my  life!" 

"And  was  not  my  life  saved  by  you,  in  the  Swiss 
mountains? "  answered  Alice. 


444  THE   GENTLE   SAVAGE. 

In  her  dreams  that  night  the  girl  had  a  vision  of  a  dark 
face,  more  fascinating  because  of  its  very  darkness ;  a 
face  which  the  ladies  of  society  declared  —  when  Pleasant 
and  Alice  were  married,  and  went  to  spend  their  honey- 
moon in  Nice,  twelve  months  afterwards  —  to  be  "  quite 
aristocratic,  refined,  and  Italian." 


THE   END. 


I"""11 'I!  Q  . 


^. 


